Run is the word you would see on my chest, throbbing there, if you were to carve me out. I often rerun mean mothers in my head, as if there is a playbook to turn them back to sweet, nice & spice. Running the culs-de-sac miles, to get thin and hope you’ll like me– The time I played and ran, flashlight tag with the boys, then drinks after, then minnows wet. Then they took me out back, said I ran my mouth, devoured my homework. Between cars because they didn’t want their moms to see 

me leaving. Felt I was at fault, running 

                                                       tracks of raccoon masked mascara. Rabbits run, too, from fear. 

All bushy tailed until they’re not. Running from not 

darkness but from others. Or, the way I wanted to dash 

back to their mothers, but I only knew mean moms so running 

seemed safer. 

The time you told me that I ran my mouth: 

the luggage was mine now, and that I was gone. The time I chased brambles, red ran near orange in autumn. I chased the weeds near the treehouse 

like they were the only snarls. My only thought: run. 

Watching you try to watch me from the kitchen, but I was playing grown up hide and seek, trying to outrun you. You staggered on tiptoes, a polka of your own. There was no music running towards the pine scented alcoves, the very rafters of the house. 

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Now, I take a second bath. I laugh – snarling – at the sheer majesty of it. Run the water. Watch the bubbles mince with scents of rose petals and mists and vanilla– 

​

I run the bath & 

Take it back. 

I pause a moment, 

Halting. The ones who hurt us most sent us scrambling, thinking they 

Freed us like impaled doves, and asking us why we’re stumbling. 

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The way we pause with toes in sand, uncurling, 

Is how I find the indigo stillness, the cheshire skies that are fleeting 

Found in the way I let go of those who 

Haunt me.