The Unfairness of It All

You said, voice loud and firm, now off to bed

just for a little while, you wheedled.

Calloused hand weighted on my shoulder

I protested, it’s still light out and I’m not tired.

Collected tears scald and drop,

the unfairness of it all.

Smothered under blankets, itchy in a heat soaked afternoon,

bindings unraveled and torn,

I listen to brothers scuffle in play.

Banished to stuffy darkness, busy fingers pick

damp wallpaper hanging in strips.

Head on pillow, eye lids half-shut

fly on the windowsill, buzzing incessantly

seeking a way through, I want out too.

Sleep claims me, I drift.

by Cathy Yard

Words In Motion 2014