Monday, August 17, 2009

Me and the Gun

He had a gun, you see.

What were we to do but run?
Middle of the night, out the window.
And so we ran.
To the neighbors, blue and red lights flashing.

He was going to kill her, kill my mom.
Lamp crashing,
"Get your shoes ready"...

Safely dropped off at the hotel,
when up he roared,
she ran after the cop car, banging the window...
I scooped up my sister and we crouched down
fear of him,
he was yelling and drunk,
arrested.

And then awaking,
she was on the phone,
asking him to pick us up.

I locked myself in the bathroom, refusing.
But what was I to do?
We had to go somewhere.

Rage, oh I was enraged.
So he reached behind and slapped me,
when she inside was paying the hotel bill.

What was I to do?
I won't stay here, I said.

Generously and heroically,
he flew us, yes, he was the pilot
in his four seater plane,
he flew us to my aunt's. My savior.

My poor baby sister, only six,
she huddled up in my lap,
terrified of the turbulence
and the sickening bumps of a small plane.

We walked away from her, from him
They faded into the distance,
I lost her, I lost myself.

And so I ran.
Barely sixteen, he had the gun.
And so I run.

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