The goldfish

 Matisse painted the goldfish.

A symbol of paradise lost. A childhood past. 

I can smell the foundation mom put on me here

My eyes were bruised, legs and wrists 

By age 14 I had 8 broken bones.

Bruises from defending myself, being thrown, falling down

Mike was 6’6

He started yelling after mom married him and before that

When I wasn’t home I was happy

I had many friends. Many sleepovers, every weekend and Elkes house on weekdays

Her green minivan full of her three daughters and coffee and kids radio

Spelling test practice and what clothes were on sale at the mall.

Hectic.

Sometimes twice a year for weeks at the Beverly garland hotel Elkes daughters would watch us.

Mom would be in the hospital.

Mike and mom were popular in the synagogue community.

I looked up to their families

Looked up to the grace and beauty of my mother.

Right now I’m reminded that I am stronger than I think

Smarter than I think and that at this age 38 I am a professional healer of myself

This will heal.

When abuse is happening I remember the symptoms

I remember how I’m feeling and must tell myself

It’s not true

Is it true?

Am I the most hated person ever? And it becomes annoying

All consuming, this feeling “ love me again”

“ please forgive me”

I feel this now. The phase of worthlessness after the event

Last night seeing Barbara 

How much she hates me and what I did to deserve it

And how she told me what I did to deserve it but it didn’t make sense

And I fled for safety of people who cared

Only to find no one.

Because she was the only person who I felt really cared

What now? To do?

I used to stare at this painting at night going to sleep in Noah’s room

A turtle tank filter a nightlight

Below it

On a culdesac in Encino I’d go to sleep in childhood

Gumby bubble bath

The fish pond across the street at Dotty traegers house

Cartoons and cereal in the morning

Graham crackers

The court gated wood yellow glazed floor to ceiling cabinets

Warm Maple

A day of scooter riding and leaping off the roof onto pear trees

When blossoms fall it’s snowing! It’s snowing!