Snuggle's off-brand breezed my nostrils
as the last clean shirt left stroked my hair
and bounced over my nose.
8 am is too brutal for the tranquility of Saturdays
but Mom and Lance chose to paint
outside my basement window that morning.
Turning to pick up my basket of laundry,
the brown pillowcase veiling the small view
I had to the world saved me
from seeing more than I could manage.
Metal ladder rungs
as my heart
plunged into my stomach.
my step dad,
shadow silhouettes forebode
dark and doom.
"Oh, God, help! Help,
God, help!" His voice rang
behind the crash. My legs
functioned so fast
I can't remember screaming,
A dozen stairs were few to none;
the front door made of foam.
His body lay
shook my body hard with fear.
Mom ran to his side
slowly speaking sagacity to my shuddering.
As I grabbed flustered, frightened,
my brothers waked
and their tired eyes tried
to make sense of the scene.
Time held destiny
as the screaming sirens calmed me.
But they took so long and the bleeding
went on. He moaned and neighbors
watched like museum spectators.
When trucks matched the shrieks
and lights brought all forms of relief,
the traumatic flash-back
brought comfort through panic
as his stifled cries stung my strength.
"Oh, God, help!"
Then I knew whose tender hands
would calm his trembling fingers.