Once I hit my brother and a pain filled my throat,
Bursting from inside my chest, from a hole.
He ran to tell my parents and silence filled the yard.
I stood there knowing there was no escape.
The welling inside a child when he knows he’s to blame.
The dread of the validation of his shame.
The welling dread of a dwelling head.
Who was I when I decided to be me instead?
Stinging past sings tempting paths,
In a time between sin and wrath.
I remember the garden breeze,
Whispering, “Where are you?”
Through the trees.