I Learned From the Best of Them
Bent over
in a mocking bow,
he should not
be jealous
of what I know.
For my fingers
know the quick wind
of a knife blade
taunting closer,
in a father’s control
of his child’s fear.
My eyelids know
the pain of closing
while trying
to look straight
ahead.
My back felt the spaces
welt between the bars,
the blackness of blood
on my white sheets.
I knew how
to hold it all inside
until my keyboard grabbed
my fingers tight
and forced them all
to fly away.
