Twenty Three.

"Come here, boy." My body bends, arches towards her hum. 

"Come here, boy." That tune is familiar, tugging at a memory hiding deep within.

"Come here, boy." I can't fight the pull of her sounds, her rhythm, her pulse. 

"Come here, boy." I wish I could ask her to stop, even as I beg her to continue.

"Come here, boy." A siren song, the bite of waves nipping at my ankles, undertow claiming my skin like forgotten baggage.

"Come here, boy." I barely hear her now, her melody lost, bouncing somewhere above the twisting sea. 

"Come here, boy."

I'm here. But where are you?

Fifteen.

You have the right to remain silent.


Stop that. I know you are just trying to scare me. Or make me laugh. Either way, you are failing.

Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.

I have heard this all before. On television. When perps are arrested by cops with plastic badges and cotton suits. You can't really be arresting me.

You have the right to an attorney.


Okay, the gig is up. Who paid you to do this? To slap these child cuffs on my wrists and drag me out of this bar?

If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you.


Who are you? I know you aren't a real officer. Are you an actor looking for any chance to perform for pay? And why won't these handcuffs unlatch, like all the other pairs I've bought from Walmart do?

Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?


No, I don't! What the hell is going on? Where did you get the car with the twinkling lights - red, white, blue, like a jumbled American flag - and the wailing siren and the bulletproof screen meant to protect you from me?  What did I do?

You know what you did. And I need you to sign this Miranda card.


Actually, I don't know. And I'm not signing anything as long as these silver rings hold my wrists behind my back.

Four.

I thought I could                                                       stand
tall against your chest,
unwavering in that loving gaze
that played with my heart
so viciously, so tenderly

until you asked me to                                               sit
next to you on the top
of the blue wire mesh
of a picnic table
beside that quiet lake

and you did your best to                                          catch
me as I tumbled from my
safety place into your
safety net, your safety arms,
a sacred place against your neck

because it hurt so much to                                    release
all those shattered pieces
from that bag of bones
that was my fragile body,
the shell you grew to love.