They tell me to calm down.
“It’s okay, just stay right here.”
Am I fifteen or five?
“Come this way, sweetie.”
She grabs my arm and leads me;
I want to tell her to let go
But bite my tongue.
“Can you handle this?”
Of course I can,
I want to say.
Don’t they understand
That I’m older now?
We all walk into the room
And time comes to standstill.
He’s in a cast and bloody, bruised.
“It’s not so bad,” he lies.
I hug him and
Wish I wasn’t fifteen,
But five.
I want to cry.
“Can you handle this?”
Of course I can’t,
I want to say.
I can’t understand
Why I nod my head.
He needs to get up;
I grab his arm and lead him.
He wants to tell me to let go
But bites his tongue.
“Am I fifty or five?”
He finally asks.
I smile, say nothing.
How old do I have to be?
How young can I be?
I hold his hand,
My mom holds mine.
We are all ageless;
Sometimes young
And sometimes strong.
They take him away.
When they’re gone
I cry.
I’m not fifteen, but five.
I’m in a nightgown,
Clutching my velvet teddy bear,
Begging “dear God, please.”
