Mostly she doesn’t remember.

The little girl hides under the porch stairs

makes herself small, silent 

waiting until it is safe again from
the mother, who cannot reach her,

bares her teeth, screaming.

The girl knows it is all her fault.

Mothers like good girls

pretty girls.
No one tells her differently.

They are afraid.

The woman huddles on the floor

makes herself small, silent.

The man’s eyes blaze
screamingit is all her fault.

Men like good girls

pretty girls.
She hears the echo.