SandScript 2020

Colors of a Bruise
Angelique Matus
POETRY
each house we moved into was always new,
yet the presence always remained the same.
always,
toxic and sad. Yes,
always sad, and angry.
like a Selena song that we would
rewind, and play. rewind, and play.
except,
there wasn’t anything beautiful about this.
purple and black,
our pink tea party table that had been kicked to
the kitchen,
from the living room.
I always saw mom crying.
too afraid to comfort her, instead, I
would pretend I didn’t notice.
no more than four, what could I do?
sometimes it was a broken window,
or a thrown Tapatío bottle.
are you ok, mom?
Ophelia and I sat playing tea party,
when the normal arguing sparked.
then there he came.
the man with the devil’s temper
yet, who held my love.
dad.
are you ok, mom?
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