At Eleven

Impatient to be twelve at eleven

The dawn of puberty still unbroken

That maiden morning of adolescence

Marking the passage of all innocence

With flowers pressed inside a diary

The pages turned to repeatedly

A name penciled, a crayon valentine

The word “forever” with an underline

A cut-out heart, the pictures jotted on

Before when someone realized she was gone

When she was tricked into a stranger’s car

Terrified when it sped upon the tar

And stopped abruptly in the wilderness

Strange hands on her impatient to possess.

She punched and kicked and pulled his greasy hair

A primal instinct summoned from somewhere

Until he stopped and shoved her out the door

She wasn’t worth the trouble anymore.

She watched the car skid once more on her feet

Finding the way when high beams lit the street

“I am alive” wiping off burr and briar

Before she could speak they called her a liar.

“You little whore, I hope you had your fun!”

Those words were bullets from a loaded gun

Her mother might as well spit on her face

No words of relief or grateful embrace.

“Disappointing” she heard her father say

Who shook his head and slowly walked away.