Stepchild

Photo by Alfred Kenneally on Unsplash

I know it's not the same as being locked in.

But when I'm here there's a border at the door

and when I cross it,

I am in her territory.

She says she wants me here, and she smiles, even.

(I feel cold inside when she smiles.)

I stay in my room and sometimes

Papa invites me outside, and I go,

Even though I cross through her space on the way

ducking and weaving

heart racing as I think --

Is there toothpaste in the sink?

Did I hang up my towel with no wrinkles?

Are there socks on my bedroom floor?

The floor is lava and the air is fire but

Papa laughs more and I guess that makes it okay.