Willow Rodriguez ’26
And I stared across at my youngest sister and asked,
“Why do you flail, scream, and fight?”
She bores into me with hard brown eyes and responds,
“To escape.”
And I gazed at my younger sister and asked,
“Was this what you wanted?”
She clutches her child tightly, happily, yet looks away softly before whispering,
“I’m not sure.”
And I laughed with my older brother and asked,
“You are happy, aren’t you?”
He wraps his arm around my shoulder and offers me more to drink,
“You’ll be happy like this one day, too.”
And I glanced at my older sister and asked,
“He controls you, doesn’t he?”
She holds the chains tighter in her bruised hands while baring her teeth at me,
“You will never understand. I love him.”
And I glared at my oldest sister and asked,
“You’ve fallen too far in your mind, haven’t you?”
She takes a drag of a cigarette before laughing softly,
“I’m more comfortable here than anywhere else.”
And I cried at my mother and asked,
“Why do you fall in the same trap after barely healing your own wounds?”
She licks the blood off her hands, her blood, and sighs,
“Because I’m in love.”
And I screamed at my father and asked,
“What have you done?!”
He throws the debris of our family aside in a gore-smattered mess before chuckling,
“I did what I always have done.”
And we ate dinner.