This Is One Mile #234
“This is one mile,”
she said to two-year-old
me, as I sat in the backseat
wearing nothing but my heart
and a seatbelt. I couldn’t tell
how long it was. I couldn’t tell
time. I could only tell that she
was taking me
to NH to buy her cigarettes and I’d be given
some candy if I was good enough.
This is one mile,
But I hadn’t yet thought
about how I would tell her that
****** peed on me, on my stomach
to be exact, but it was white pee,
so it was so different to me. I forgot
how it tasted, if I tasted it, even.
It was all a bad dream.
This is one mile
long and I am one mile
too short. I can’t
stand up to the bad guys and they ruin
my life forever and ever. I run away
from him next time,
I reasoned with myself.
But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. This is one mile
and I am too short to run a mile,
too broken, too chained, too un-free.
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