get out of my room, she
yells. i oblige, taking care to
turn out the
lights as i leave. at dinnertime
she eats and
eats
and
eats. i joke, make fun of her,
my laughter instantly quieted
by my dad's piercing glare,
cutting through my skull,
implanted in my brain.
her make-believe classroom
is so realistic
i am forced to make a
sign-out sheet and hall pass
for her nonexistent
students. i do so,
unbelievable that i am
listening to her, obeying her,
washing her feet, almost
swearing under
my breath, wanting to be
text-messaging, or
talking to
friends. i remember,
with deep content,
of the one thing i have against her-

i am older.