i. FOUR YEARS OLDshe rides a bicycle, the strange whirring of wheels a premonition. bits of stone flicker off the pavement, sounding like the tapping of wicked fingers on a window. afraid that if she rides too fast, she’ll never be able to stop. the chain may snap, glide through the air, the wheels may unhinge and tumble down a slope that doesn’t exist. she speaks in ‘what if’, of criminals that may pillage through her house or rotten grapes that fall down the wrong canal. of a car whose driver suffused his blood with liquor, who may drive at the intersection where someone she loves drinks coffee and checks her phone. walks slowly, cautiously, avoids corners that could puncture her skin, make a viscous red liquid ooze out. has to be told that jellyfish don’t sting every baby splashing at the edge of a sea, that restaurants do not sprinkle hate on her spaghetti, that although the world is a perilous place — maybe people die of old age. ii. EIGHT YEARS OLDfriends who go on stage and read out poems to an audience of people who don’t care. her poems still confined to a diary wrapped in black paper, that she can scarcely whisper about. poems about brackish water, sickly incantations, the definition of friction. is it wrong that she hates poems about the vicissitudes of life? or is it just because she knows and fears them? iii. TWELVE YEARS OLDlacquered light spills through the windows, a tight cage of sunshine. schoolbus wheels follow a specific rhythm, soft curtains waver every now and then, welcome soft slivers of golden glow. she peeks out from the gap, sees a girl her age holding a wailing baby against her chest. rags that adorn her skinny frame, bones of matchsticks and eyes of hunger. watches a driver slap her away, hears the baby’s moans amplify. the red light shifts colors, the wheels turn and crunch the gravel. goes home, refuses cake and swallows week-old bread. refuses the seductive pitcher of orange juice, forces down half a tumbler of water. wears torn clothes to a party where other girls don sequined heels and fluorescent headbands. closes her eyes, prays that the baby is alive. that she has a mother whose breast she can suck on, that the girl is safe from predators who eye her youthful body. that the world is nicer to people who don’t have the luxury of controlling their lives. ✱✱✱
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