They wanted exhibits.
Exhibit A.
Exhibit B.
Exhibit C.
As if pain
should arrive
alphabetized.
As if my son’s fear
could fit neatly
behind a tab.
As if abuse
becomes easier to carry
once someone labels it
evidence.
The court
asked for exhibits.
I wanted someone
to ask
how many nights
I replayed them.
How many times
I wished
there had never been
anything
to exhibit
at all.
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