Knowing Nothing of This ’Til Then

I was younger then, but only by months.
Curiosity settled unbearably throughout my limbs
And I waited
Patiently for you to carry yourself down wooden stairs
Rightleftright – my ear against olive-colored carpet
To make sure that coast was clear
Hands resting on hinge of drawer and pulling
I reached inside, ransacked and shifted through its contents
And uncovered your thoughts in journal form (success)
I remembered then how embarrassment
Burnt my cheeks red
Everything you said when you found the
Monster I had hidden in the sheets beneath my bed
And I recalled your tears
The shape your body took, fetally curled
With your knees against your chest
You wept endlessly.
Fearing flood or revenge
I tossed and turned that night, grasping the fact
That I had failed you and again –
When I opened that leather cover and divulged
Your evenly spaced print to my eyes and that entry
I had watched you record on blue printed lines
Night prior, before dark, before saying
“Sharpen this, please!” in an angry tone
From across the hall and again –
With a clean-cut graphite tip you wrote
“October twenty-second …”
In the uppermost corner and proceeded with
“My Journal, I have never felt so alone …”