I am a special girl
My mom’s favorite flower
A sapling unexpected
Like the doctor said
I am a special girl
My dad’s favorite joint
A cloud of innocence
Like a smoke in his presence
When I was born,
A wisteria tree they planted
grows with me everyday
Like my budding friend,
we are both six
I look at it over the kitchen window
Of its tiniest leaves and short branches in the meadow,
wondering if it’s excited to see me today
It never responded, I was disappointed
Like every morning, I ate my cereal
but this time my mom yelled hysterical
She told me to hide in the closet
and grab dad’s toy, be quiet
The toy dad showed me back then
Made my curiosity linger
Thoughts of playing with it
But never without dad’s “okay shoot”
But he’s on the floor fast asleep
after telling the man on the door to leave
I felt my heart drum in terror,
Holding my toy, hiding myself from him,
I jumped hearing mom’s voice quiver
I think she needs her flower
So by the door I looked over,
only to be met with scarlet puddles,
The neck which adorned the gems I admired,
Now resembles the clouds under a stormy night,
“Don’t hurt my mom,” is what I wished I said,
But I stood still,
realizing dad won’t wake up to say
shoot
Grownups don’t ask for permission
After all, I am a big girl now
So I squeezed the trigger
The resounding blast
rose me from my slumber
New years are always a fright
always waking me up at twelve midnight
They are gone —
and so is the man
I looked over the kitchen window
only to see my wisteria tree has grown.
Piece by Elmia Burgos
