You sit,

the new kid on the

school bus as she 

marks little gashes

on the parts of your 

skin hidden beneath

a soft scarf, sown

along the edges where

it should be free.

 

She grew up larger

than her siblings,

fat and full from a 

man in the buffet line

feeding ignorance

in neatly stacked

sushi rolls.

 

He hid the wasabi

between the rice and 

seaweed coating,

so you don’t feel

the heat until 

it scorches the gum

and burrows pits of flames 

in your ear,

whispering,

“an abomination.”

 

For so long, she had

Larger targets and a

Broader view.

 

Then you met him,

Crossed an ocean.

 

She narrowed her sphere 

Shot precise arrows in the 

Bullseye of relapsed time,

Jabbing deeper into

Old wounds so you’d keep

Calling them new.