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it is morning
i am 3
at least

the living room ... there
the kitchen next door
the hall leading to bathroom and bedrooms
three of those

my room has green carpet
like grass

she's at work
he is not

i'm hungry
or thirsty
standing between him
and the open refrigerator

he's in underwear
and undershirt
i'm in ... a gown?
it is morning

she's at work
he is not

turning around
what's this?
*touch*

you nasty bad little girl
bad bad girl
don't you EVER touch
me again

it is morning
she's at work
he is not

in the beginning

there was a purple hairbrush with black bristles, a blue/green bedspread with tassals on the edges, the coolness of the kitchen floor against my cheek as i lay looking out the back door at a tree devoid of leaves. i don't know why i was laying on the floor. the lights weren't on in the kitchen. i could draw a picture of that tree, it's so clear. i was younger than 3, that much i know for sure.

the whispery and softly focused images of a baby's memory.

but that's all. just those 3 or 4 things.

in the beginning, indeed.