Every time we walked by the
Stairs to nowhere
You would tell me the story
Of the time you cried
About the engine on its side
And the damage done.
Your earliest memory.
Every time we walked in
The woods on the lost path
You would tell me the story
Of the time he held your thumbs
Backwards and in on themselves
And you couldn’t make a a noise.
A silent screaming memory.
That time I sat in the front seat
I cried and told you the story
Of the damage done.
You said nothing;
Drove forward.
My last memory of you.
