The corpse that is my childhood is mine to protect from the wolves and rats of denial and collusion. The infant who commits suicide in self-defense is my heroine. The pure thinking of an uncluttered mind seizes on the only possible way for me to survive. Her death at her own hand is my rescue. If the bad had killed her I would have died with her. In her plan, I was left as the seed she ejected in her assent. She is gone from this place; I feel her only as the wisp of memory. The tiny body laid flat on the carpet, her pressed pinafore somehow more alive than she, is the unfinished business of prevention. As long as I see her there and do not walk away from my responsibility and never forget she protected me with the life she never lived, I am free to live this life.
Throw ice cubes up for God to catch.