I can still remember the wallpaper
from the bathroom in our old house
back when I was eight or nine.
It was tropical fish, angels, I think;
pretty to look at but annoying because
whoever hung the paper did not pay
attention; the edges didn’t match up
leaving severed bodies and floating fish-heads.
I can’t recall what my face looked like.
No family photographs to remind me,
no catalogue of years leading up to puberty
only those disjointed fishes remain.
So much potential to be beautiful
only to be let down by careless hands
who couldn’t be bothered to take their time
and do things right.
(Previously published in 192 ezine which you can view here)