Plastic bags & parachutes

She was young,

Instincts sharp

secure

unfazed

by sex, 

money, 

status, 

the approval of others 

and the impending lack of trust 

in herself.

She knew unsafe before unsafe knew her.

Found in the dead stare 

of power play 

and mind games

“I’ll always protect you”

he said,

with breath that reeked of last night’s all-nighter

and an energy draped in myth 

it wasn’t long before he collapsed 

into a snoring heap

on the couch

forgetting that his young might be hungry

Petrified of the blood that made her

And the shouts he used to tame her

She chose flight.

The outbreak

depended on the potential 

of an imaginary parachute

with handles clenched tight 

in tiny fists 

she danced about her yard

moves of magic

and an unbreakable spirit 

morphed a plastic bag 

into an exist strategy

dashing through the clouds

crashing to the ground

heart racing

feet pacing

commando crawling under squeaky gates

all the way to Nana’s house

where the aromas of home-cooking, 

gas heating

and ironing say hello.

Safety in smells

Safety in the bosom of her mother’s mother

BANG

BANG

BANG

The backdoor shakes 

power-hungry growls

pop her reverie

like a pin to a balloon

Beastly fists

drag tiny wrists

into the grumbling underbelly 

of disorganized attachment 

where her addiction to numbness first kicks in