"Thank You For Calling 9-1-1, What Is Your Emergency?"

I could feel his ribs as he put his weight on me,

The weight of thirty-two more years in the world than I had.

The ribs of a skeleton,

Of a man so empty and devoid of

flesh – muscle – love

that he looks to his preadolescent niece

to find what life had decided he does not deserve.

Imagine sitting in your living room

As armed burglars toss your home for treasure

Not saying a word as they

Rummage – invade – attack – conquer – destroy.

Then they slap you on the cheek and say, That’s right.

They leave your front door wide open,

Knowing you will shut it, lock it, behind them

Like they had been invited to dinner.

The fan ornament – a loon with spinning wings –

The two-story birdhouse I painted on the mantle –

The Christmas card pictures on the shelf –

The blocks and dominos we built castles from –

This room was supposed to be safe.

The police come eventually and ask if anything was taken.

You take inventory, trying to find what is no longer there.

Two eyes – two ears – two hands – two feet

Seems like you’re all there, Ma’am.

Let us know if you think of something else.

Scripture says woman was made from man’s rib.

I could argue whether Adam’s rib first gave me life,

But I know for certain whose rib first took it away.

The station calls back a few days later,

Saying they’ve had similar reports of break-ins.

Did he take your childhood, Ma’am?

How about your innocence, did you check for that?

Did he take your hope, your faith, your comfort?

Years later you are sifting through the back closet

And you realize what is supposed to be there but isn’t.

You curl up into yourself in misery

Because it’s been too long now

And the police can’t do a thing.

Did he take your childhood, Ma’am?

No. I’ve got it right here.

I am still a child.

I am still a child.