The Little Girl at the Window

 a chubby little girl with a permanent squint that looks like a scowl

that's what I see in my kiddie pics

what was I thinking behind that funny, awkward face?

I don't remember


I don't recall a bedroom. Or bed.

What was the wallpaper like? 

I lived in so many places. 

38 before 20, if I counted them all


I can't visualize a dinner table 

except at the grama-grampa house

There are few doing-stuff together memories 

I played alone a lot 


I wandered around cities alone

at 6

I was a latchkey before it was a thing

I was sick alone


I never called any place "my" home

It was always dad's or mom's 

And later stepmom's or stepdad's 

I "lived with" them, I said


I slept on their couches

On makeshift beds with someone else's pillow

On unheated porches

in the baby's room 


toys came and went with no warning

One day they were there 

and the next, they were gone

sold, I think. I never asked. 


food was thin on the ground

vitamins for breakfast  

a power bar for lunch and salad for supper 

I have stolen food before


Chores were never in short supply

lists and lists for me to do

no one else 

just me


I've always felt outside

looking in other families' homes

my little face pressed to the window

steaming up the glass with my breath


Always seeing  but never really seen

till someone needed something 

a job done or a target

Apart but not a part


I never felt anything about it

I'm told I looked miserable

at family gatherings

I can't remember those either


I didn't know it was wrong

this nothing having but work

I know now it was.

At least, I think I do.


I still don't feel it's wrong

for me anyway

for others it would be

For my kids, hell yes


They had beds and toys 

some are still in the basement

and memories

happy and a few sad


I still cook oversized meals

even though they've flown

I treasure their drawings

and stuffed animals


I'm feeding the little girl at the window

I gave her a bed and some toys

She has a home

She can call it hers


She still frosts up the glass

when she forgets she can come in

or is afraid to

or locks herself out


She still stays small 

But she's staying longer

and smiling more

and remembering


Amen





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