Earliest Memories

There was carpet,

ruff beneath my hands,

multi-brown and mural-stained.

Above me lay my mother strained.

Her legs were rigid,

and her eyes rolled back.

She was moaning, groaning weirdly.

From her arm, scarlet drops were dripping,

the doctor's needle thrown astray,

The fear I felt I feel today.

I was hungry too and scared to say.

My siblings I knew not where they were,

so I walked,

and then I crawled.

Down rusted stairs with sharpened daggers,

To the doorway, I'd seen below

is where I aimed to go.

There in the porch lights glow,

a bowl of round oranges called to me.

They felt smooth to my tips,

smelling sweet in my nose.

A red door opened then,

a raven-haired woman with glasses

peering from within.

Her button eyes were wide,

Panic took me in stride.

The other had seen

me.

I had broken the rule I was told not to

I was to be kept secret,

hiding always.

So I scrambled,

scratching my arms as I climbed back up

The stairway collecting more of my blood

Up, up I climbed

Desperate

back to my mother.

Soon after,

There was a pounding,

banging at our door.

My mother's wolves had found us,

once more.

She was sitting up now,

and I was padding her arms.

OK, ok, OK, ok,

I kept repeating.

Our door was smashed,

opening with a clang

Those in wicking coats poured in,

and my mother's head hung low.

I tried to hold,

but they pulled me away,

as if I, too,

was sold.