delicate whites and blues,
will never be her china plate.
Her reprimand falls
like a burning iron on a bare foot.
He howls, his mouth wide open.
Soft tears roll from veiny, fractured eyes.
Taking cotton soaked in Dettol, she dabs the wound
to a lullaby’s tempo. “I’m sorry,” she replies,
and bandages it and pampers it with
puckered lips and muaahs. Months pass… The injury,
once undressed, looks like a lidless stare. Hurts are
forgotten. But, when he ruins something else,
she scorches him again, and then tries to unscar.