lucy baby

VII.
It was getting cold.
And rainy.
And just gross outside.
The rain
Would soak into the cardboard box
And then never really dry.
My pants were always wet
In the wrong places
And people thought
I was more disgusting then they did before.

Look at her
They would whisper,
She even forgot how to relieve herself.
Look at her.

Boys would laugh at me.
Younger boys,
Older boys.

All I’ve ever wanted
Was to be noticed
By boys
Just like these ones.

I never imagined
This.

VI.
People always automatically think
That I grew up in
Unfortunate circumstances.

That isn’t true.

Daddy would always dress
In grey and black loose billowy soft work pants
And white shirts
And then he’d open his closet
And he’d let me choose a tie.

My favorite was the one
With the cartoon characters on it.
The ones from that TV show,
Loony Toons.

With the Tasmanian Devil
And Bugs Bunny
And Daffy Duck.

It was so bright
And vibrant
And silky smooth.

Mommy never let me choose her clothes.
She always looked beautiful,
Black skirts
and colorful shirts
layered under perfectly coordinated jackets
and tall, tall shoes.

She would let me wear them.
Black and brown and blue and white and gold.
I would stomp around the house
In every pair,
Sometimes a different shoe
On each foot.

I always ended up falling
On my butt
And crying from the shock
Of that hard wood or carpet beneath me.

Then Daddy would pick me up

V.
I remember little things
About my dad.

His hands, mostly.
I’ve always been fascinated with hands.
The palm,
So sturdy and soft
And wrinkled
With the lines.

I remember he used to say
That every line meant something.

He showed me the line on his hand
That stretched across the widest part.

That’s how long you’ll live,
Rose.

But Daddy,
What happens when the line ends?

You get a new house,
And a new mommy
And a new daddy
A new little girl or boy.

And then
I ran crying and I dove under the bed
And I remember
His hands
Reaching under the bed.

Daddy!
I wailed
And I remember
Those hands
Reaching out
And pulling me up into the light.

IV.
I was always hungry.
I guess it’s a thing
When you’re pregnant.
You’re “eating for two”.

What if I didn’t even have enough food
For one?

How much home does a pregnant woman need?

Because I don’t think I have enough
Of that
Either.

III.
People used to say
I was pretty.

Look at your gorgeous eyes.
You don’t even need a halo, do you?

Sometimes questions
About my eyes
And my smile.

Did you get those pretty curls
From your Daddy?

I was silent.
I was always so quiet as a kid.
My mother called me distant
And my mute little girl.

She had to explain me.
She’s just shy.
Doesn’t even talk to her own mother.

Then those polite
Adult laughs.

And then mothers would say
Oh, but she’s so pretty!

She must get those curls from her father,
Yeah?

What father?
What daddy?
What?

II.
People used to ask me
Why I left.

Why was I living on the side of the road
Always so hungry
With my belly bulging
Underneath the pink tee shirt
I always wore?

Why was I sleeping
In a refrigerator box outside
The Mobil station
On that corner
By the factory that makes
The pretty shirts and skirts
And shorts
That I can’t buy?

But then,
People stopped asking
And just stared.
Those stares
Of sympathy
And disgust.

I would watch
Mothers and their small children
Dressed in denim jumpers
And light up sneakers
And tiny little brown cargo pants.
The boys and girls
That seemed to have everything
They could ever need.

I would look at my stomach
My hands resting on the outline
Underneath that pink shirt
Soaked in sweat
And dirt and grime
And I would wish
That my baby could have
Everything
Too.

I.
I always found it strange
The things you remember
When you’re a child.

My parents worked
When I was little,

And I remember sneaking away
From my usual babysitter.

I sat on the Reading Rug
In the library,
And listened to the frantic sitter
Running
And calling my name
Outside the big double doors.

Tracing those characters
On the rug with my finger.
Listening.
I was proud,
I guess.

Proud I could be so calm.
I’ve always been that way,
Calm and quiet.

Even after
I found out
About my baby.