Donna Dallas

Being Born Bent

and knowing 
even then
at a micro age
something was completely off
and possibly not fixable

The fights
cops
the disappearance of my mother
the dad who was not
my biological dad
knowing every time
I went outside
everyone balked
stared
whispered
but no one ever tried
to salvage my wreckage

It’s always reassuring
when you’re on the outside
of the cage
pointing at the dilapidated
worn beast

Dark circles formed under my eyes
by age ten they were permanent
from those early years of
sleepless nights
where sounds began as whispers
grew savagely into screams

And nights when they were locked up
or drugged out
Grandma at any minute – and mostly
in the wee hours
would wail endlessly
so guttural and piercing
from the poison of thunderbird
or whatever she was able to swig down that remained……I remained
in that house
for years after
as if I could repair it
the caved in roof
the cracked windows
my irreparable parents
and full-crocked grandmother

I remained so long 
rooted
like a desperate weed
roamed the streets
begging for comfort
as if the streets
were safer
than my scarcely furnished home
as if