Blowdrying my hair
I am sent into memory
warm rush air on face
fleeting glance of the heating grate
in front of a Christmas tree
the smell of a brand new baby doll
Someone has left for me
Pink soft rubbery
A thing to love safely
it can not scream
it will not yell
if I do something wrong
she will not tell
Lost in the place
I used to be
enjoying it here
and then I see
My mother screaming
My father mad
I see him hitting her
it makes me sad
I turn the blowdryer off

02/28/2005

Posted on 02/28/2005
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