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“I ruined it,” I say with salt and smoke in my throat, sitting at Mother’s knee I press my face to her skirts, the smell of salt is stronger there But she shushes me “I knew better,” I sob, and she combs my hair With tortoiseshell and plastic combs I start to quiet. She stroked my back as I cry, my salt water droplets to her vast 71% Her soothing goes on and on until I find my voice again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say again and again “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I ruined everything.”
