even though I had picked him up seven thousand
times before         I thought I could be an action
hero when I was a kid and was certain I was born to
scale mountains and leap from place
to place like a grasshopper who hates my hands but

now the whole world is made of boulders         I told
my friends I knew every word in the dictionary
and I believed every word I used to say it         I used to be

so angry at my parents rushing away in the
yellow-red swamp of hospital lights, leaving me
to make sure my sisters shower         I blamed
my brother for his sickness       and then kissed him a million
times        I was eleven when I did eleven chin-ups
in a row and thought I could stay hanging from the monkey bars
forever

I went three days hungry on a bunk bed the first
time I lived away from home        and watched the air harden
into rocks around my head         I sulked in my room
after the ambulance stumbled off with my parents
and brother         I didn’t tell anyone to do anything except
leave me alone         I was supposed to give him
medicine         not pick him up off the floor

I want to say my shoulders hurt         I want
to call myself mother and think I’ve carried
the cracking sky        bled my feet on its shards
as my family rides piggy-back

                                       no

I’ve been selfish        I made up
the rocks         they’re not there and I

will always be a bad child