14 years later

She told me, with a wagging finger, that I was selfish, that everyone is

Her declaration sunk straight to the bottom of my soft, 9-year-old heart

And I revolted, I couldn't defend myself from her distorted lenses

But my small back was resolute, my bloodstream

Full of rioting villagers with sharp scythes and pitchforks

Now, 14 years later, I wonder where she is

What she's doing. I wonder if life gave her

A bludgeon-proof exoskeleton, or, rather if she purchased one

With her tears and heavy drops of sweat

I wonder if the mannerisms of her love ever changed

I wonder if she saw the fingerprint impressions

People left her with little more than dark blue vignettes

And elusive eel memories of how the world is lumpy and asymmetrical

I wonder if other children disliked her, with her baggy sweaters and sharp edges

A stalwart unto herself, her love, clumsy and didactic

Hers was a hug-less love that forced me to eat my tomatoes

I felt she had no right to my home yet she tried to rule it

With a fist more firm than my mother's

She wasn't a step-mother, that young, invited guest of ours

She was one of the first to stoke the waking embers of my future fury

She spoke falsehoods over my fledgling spirit

Yet somehow I understood she herself had been quenched years ago

But they named the water-buckets "love" and "wisdom"

So I forgave her, and 14 years later, I wonder where she is