the rapist.

sit on the stairs
SIT ON THE STAIRS
in footie pajamas
listen to shadows
moving, darting
to corners,
fists of words
pointed
in your face.
Sharp.

Sit on down,
down in the chair.
Sit it down, talk to me
like they didn't know how to.
They have all been paid to do this.

Eyes are for more than closing,
fingers are for more than turning pages of books
my baby yells didn't have to unhappily pierce the walls.
See me:

I can be jubilant screams to the sky
distant shouts making smoke signals
opening your eyes.
I can't be a buffer;
I can't stop hard falls.