The prisoners play with paper dolls

by shira

Mom sent me to my room
I’ve been so bad
That she can’t take my occupancy
Inside of her’s

I was telling her a story
About a horrible little girl
Who spilled juice on the carpet
And whispered it was her brother
Right while he was in the room
Watching TV, clean-faced, next to a purple-stained glass

I wiped my face off with my sticky sleeves
I could taste the sweetness
And thought to myself
That I could survive through dinnertime every night
When it was too quiet for me to think
If I shacked up in my room
To grow strong on poison I cast off on my arms and legs

And my dad was up there, too
Mom had sent him to his spot
In between the wall and the clock
They slept in separate beds, he
On his mattress with his socks underneath
That he tosses out of sight
Under the bed springs
To forget he used to have a lively step

Dad and I,
We were both bad
He left too early and came back too late
And I came too early and never tried to leave
Even when given the signal
Of raised arms and lowered voices
Animations in the kitchen
Husband, wife, son, daughter

She found out my secret
When I confessed through a flower vase
Set in between the salt and pepper shakers
Someone said grape juice
And I just turned so red