By Rodwen Fëfalas
Locked in the car
To run into the police department
And beg for help.
The nerves, something to calm me down
Race to the shelves
Push past it
I should never have left them
In the back seat.
Mom and dad, I led them
Parked beside me
No one came
Until it was too late.
The car, crushed
Blind fury was the thing I fought
They mocked me, using notes
A husband and wife.
Pink pen crossed out grades and wrote zeroes,
Two pieces of hemp with neon green writing
The lady’s information, picture, and a quote with “victory” written
My mother, my mother, my mother of the motherless.
Mom: dead; adopted parent: the killer.