by C. Christine Fair

To you, I was always “Bob’s bastard,”
A reminder that someone touched her before you.

My body remembers your grease-stained, gnarled fists
smashing my pink flesh to bone.

My body remembers your steel-toed shoes
ploughing into my belly and back.
Sometimes mom begged you to stop.
Sometimes she sobbed, immobile.
Sometimes she looked away…