What Stains Through

the boy / the body / and the bloody face

In my innocent days

yellow house

tulips

we took the little red wagon to the grocery store

’cause there was only one car

Momma made us lay down towels

for the fruit

and our bottoms

both trying to ripen by the day

We passed the school playground

neither of us were old enough to attend

a boy was playing tag

until his body

and his head

seemed to separate

uneven

like the bars

he didn't see coming

Then the scream

for towels

which we had in supply

I wanted closer

childlike

wonder

wanted to see the word carnage

before I knew it

Sister remembers it too:

the same red wagon

radio flying

red blood 'round the seesaw

But Momma says:

no wagon

no boy

no blood.

And now I wonder

what secret is folded

in the towels

we carried home

a family

of

unreliable

narrators

every time I remember

something stains through