Pieces of the game,

broken, strewn about,

one left standing.

                            Still.

Waiting to be placed,

the next position:

Father died.

                    Mother

took a suitor. He

seethed after she died.

I ran from abuse

of every kind.

                      Life

on the streets was hard.

My new family

taught about justice.

I was elected

to restore order.

At nine, I murdered—

one less abuser.

Later, adopted.

Mother and sister

and I—family.

Sister and I—loved.

We had our own child.

Children’s services

separated us.

The letter accused

me of murdering

my wife’s brother.

                             I

was a child. Clueless,

manipulated .

We do not survive.