i remember squeezing your hand hard during mama's prayers
even with closed eyes
I knew you were smiling
under the table where you kicked my shins
I had a bruise for a week
it turned purple on Wednesday
I told mama I fell
playing too hard
I remember running through grass taller than mama's thick pancake stacks on a Sunday
everything smelled like the ugly summer weeds and mirages and
we were too close to the train tracks
I tripped on my shoe laces
church dress
chest pressed into the dirt
my scraped knees looked like ripped jeans made out of blood and flesh
my tongue tasted gravel
my lungs picked up rust instead of air
I couldn't breath
I watched as you kept running
I heard the train coming
covered my ears
closed my eyes then–
on a Saturday we touched trees with syrup just as sticky as aunt jemima spilling from them. we licked our fingers.
the taste was bitter
but life was sweet again
I remember
covering ourselves in ten layers of clothing to fight a bug that had slipped through the screen door
we were warriors
you always more than me
the dead bee
I remember the
dead bee
I touched it's stinger just to know
what it felt like to be stung
ha, could've just gone to you
right?
on a Tuesday at dinner I took the cup with more juice in it
you hit me when mama went to work that night
and you'd hit me again if I told her
I did
I had a bruise for a week
