Glass Poetry Press

Volume Three Issue One

Linwood Rumney

A Child's Tyranny

Sometimes at night my sister called to me from across the hall. I unbraided myself from the sheets and stumbled in my underwear toward her bed with the force of a bird summoned South for its first winter. With nothing to say to each other, Mary and I were twin question marks lying in the dark where no words yet overwhelmed the path between us. At dawn our parents rose from their separate beds to pry us apart, insisting we were too old to lie together. So now when I think of my sister, I rage silent and sleepless at thoughts of her bruises — her boyfriend in prison again. I rage with the mute tyranny of a child emerging into a language it refuses to understand.