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.