Because her father has left her
she cries wide-mouthed in the day
in the night in her sleep he is dead
staring inside her little head,
his stolen face.
He cursed me as she watched
from the trap of my arms,
as he threw the words she caught them,
as I spat them back
they grazed her skin,
enduring weapons.
She stood at the window, calling Daddy
until the dust was wet
where her eyes met the sill.
It hurt so much I cry still
and know it happened. I did it
wrong, the witch in my head says
it is my fault. 
I wished I had never met him
but that lie breaks her piece from my heart,
collapsed like the flat life she fills up.
Daddy never calls, she doesn’t know why
the balloon he blew for her birthday long ago
shriveled on the floor.
She kept it for years.
She can’t remember what he looks like.


for Sangye Land						
from ‘Lovebird’ (an unpublished manuscript)