The girl is invisible, an intruding
fog-like substance. She never wished for this.
They drink or argue, forget her in an elegant glass
and a glowing TV screen. Her blue dress wears
the demure air of indifference.
While they grate and crackle, scapegoat their hate,
she stands by the door with eyes wide as the sun;
her hair in doll's spirals and a hand-woven heart,
she aches vaguely to be someone else.
The girl stares from a photo, blank and lost.
I know who she is, what she fears. If only I could
reach back and urge her to run, mediate somehow.
I wish it was never my faults she grew into,
my mind to ruin her.