Murder in the House

Julie Quinn

i do not know what form my soul takes all i know is that when you broke into my house, you took a piece of my soul,

my virginity, my first kiss, my first love, senior prom, my final bow on the stage— the other day i took a stroll

down the street it could have been your hand intertwined with mine but thank God, it wasn’t—i imagined myself as a mother

tiny little me(s)—i’ve always wanted a child of my own. Tears prickled my eyes and i bit down on my lip until i tasted blood

i will have to relive the trauma & how, as a mother, am i going to tell my children what happened to me that April night? Even

now, a part of me doubts my own memory and i’m not even sure what happened myself—i told you “no” more than once, and yet, you

still ripped open my door and broke into my house, my sanctuary, my pride— when you ripped my legs open and invaded me, you took a piece of my soul

i can heal, yes, but now that piece is unattainable i will never get my innocence back—i will always remain broke