Valuation
I call you multiplication.
Many slaps.
Blood on a little girl's face.
I call you multiplication
Of rage, popping veins, popping
Spittle, popping bullet words,
Popping baseball bat, popping.
I call you division.
Torn skin on a little girl's back.
Fracture of ribs beneath skin,
Bruises inking each between
Space on flesh.
I call you division
Of self, rupturing every
Tender, vulnerable place.
I refuse to cry, add to your
Sadistic joy. I refuse to speak,
Subtract from any silence.
My mother never stops you.
I count every time she stood there,
Like now, and watched.
At night,
I wrap my body
In a sheet.