A Child's Tyranny
       

Sometimes at night
            my sister called to me
                    from across the hall.

I unbraided myself
            from the sheets
                    and stumbled

in my underwear
            toward her bed
                    with the force

of a bird summoned
            south for its first
                    winter. With nothing

to say to each other,
            Karen and I were twin
                    question marks lying

in the dark where
            no words yet overwhelmed
                    the path between us.

At dawn our parents
            rose from their
                    separate beds

to pry us apart,
            insisting we were
                    too old to lie together.

Now when I think
            of my sister, I rage
                    silent and sleepless

at thoughts
            of her bruises
—                    her boyfriend in prison

again. I rage
            with the mute
                    tyranny of a child

emerging into
            a language 
                  it refuses to understand.

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Copyright © 2017 Linwood D. Rumney All rights reserved
from Abandoned Earth
Gival Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission