things we forgot & things we will forget

three kids sit, crouched in the wet green, fists full of dirt & a gravestone next to them. I don't remember her name & the kids are gods.

the smell of churches – more musty than holy to a five year-old's nose, my dress scratching as the air rusted. I sleep with Jesus crucified above me.

one morning, kid knees drawn up tight to my chest, summer dress bunched & gravel digging into my back, I told my best friend I hated her.

my mother always leaves a ring of red on every coffee cup she touches. she doesn't like coffee.

apple sauce & spaghetti was the first thing I ate after not seeing my grandpa for a year.

I don't stir my tea well enough & the sugar scratches my throat.

the healing, the healing – that's the part that hurts.

my aunt is no story-teller, but she made me, seven years old & flushed, a mermaid. we buried her & everything else we wanted to keep in the sand.

the sun rises every morning, & though I am awake to see it, I do not.

my grandma told my grandpa she loved him very much. this is a fact. he grew tomatoes for her.

we would fight over who sat in the stool for dinner. we went out for fruit & came back with sweets. the stool was not a throne, but the kids are gods.

I walked in my mother's shoes before I realised I'd never grow not them, stumbling through a house that is mine but never home.

my mother is skinny, & always on a diet. she likes it like this. my aunt knows the calories in everything & stays the same.

when our puppy came home, I gave him so much milk it made him sick. lesson learned – loving anything is a nauseating affair.

after my grandma died, my sister slept in the garden & I did nothing. she was sick & I didn't know her. I regret this.

once, I put a daisy between my lips & bit the sun in two – it was very bitter. I'll do this again.

my mother, calling my twin & I in for dinner, but we are not hungry. we've made mud pies. we are gods.

my father's hands are always warm but he used to be taller. my mother's hands are those of someone much older. she's always cold. I want to be this.

we will forget this, but yes – the kids are gods.