Survivor

We keep our secrets well
We children
Locked in dark closets
Buried in the black earth underneath the front porch
Hidden behind the broken toys in the box in the attic
Uncovered only
By the smile in an old photograph
His hand too close
Her eyes stare at the sun
Asking for its blindness.

The child is not me
I have never seen her face looking at mine through the dim mirrored glass
I do not know why she stands so still
As if a movement would shatter her
I do not remember what she knows
Where her pain has gone
Hidden, buried, locked
We keep our secrets well.

9/23/92