Little Emma

Mom had three jobs. She didn’t have time. Sister made friends with fictive characters. I had trauma and reading disorders.

Mom had three jobs. She didn’t have time. Sister read out loud The Pit and the Pendulum. I had nightmares and she let me sleep in her room.

Mom had three jobs. She didn’t have time. Sister read out loud A Carcass from The Flowers of Evil, I wrote my first poem about death. I was nine.

Mom had three jobs, she didn’t have time. Sister got a job, didn’t read out loud anymore. I climbed up to the attic and pretended to be Little Emma.

The small white ballet shoes flew away, As she kicked the air with deer-thin legs. Her face first turned red, blue and finally black.