Sylvia Wynter's Dream

I miss your smile, the one that exploded across your face when you heard the ice-cream man’s horn, peep-peeeeep. Your eyes danced with white youth, yellow happiness, a reflection of the evening sky.

Then your smile started to fade, especially when he came around, when he sat beside your mom around the dining table; you clasped your hands between trembling legs, head down, and your mouth chewed as if you were eating dirt, but it too disappeared, just like your smile.

I miss your smile, but I cannot tell you to try it again, or say sorry for that is a cliché. You would not accept it; I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you for crying at nights in your fluffy pillows. I don’t blame you for neglecting his apology. His half-ass apology, stained with promise for another time. He will do it again.

He will step into your room, like the devil, he seeks for what’s not his. You told me you thought it was a dream, but your body felt the intrusion when you turned on your bed, you felt his hands spreading across your legs, slow, steady pace, to your vagina. His hands clamped over your mouth to stifle your cry, you almost died. I almost lost you.

In the morning glow you stretched for courage, and you held it while you told your mother the truth. That almost killed you too, she turned her back on you, went to him for his side of the story and held on to it. He smiled; it couldn’t compare to yours before this darkness arrived- it was cunning, stretched from ear to ear, yellow teeth glistening in the light. Tobacco stink on his breath and your mother clung to his left arm. The perfect couple leading the best family, free from sin.

I miss your smile, today mostly; you would have turned eighteen, but I lost you.