Simon Says by Mirissa D. Price

Unknown photographer.

Simon Says: This is Not a Game

All I heard was shouting
And whips against bare skin
Their orders: March!
 
No one cried,
Tears becoming icicles
In the dead of winter
Walking on decayed soil
Mother’s ashes
Somewhere
Beneath my feet.
 
Daddy called it a game
Just follow orders
Like Simon Says
But Simon never stroked my back
With the blood
Of my sister.
 
The wind choked
My fragile spirit
Pressing with tepid bitterness
Against the back of my throat
A tease of warmth
Blood-warmth.
 
Spiritless
We marched
Away from destruction
So little still standing.
 
Our journey:
Abandoning memories
Arriving.
 
If they did not
kill us first.

Mirissa D. Price

The doctor said she would live in a nursing home, confined to a wheelchair, crippled by pain; that was thirteen years ago. Instead, Mirissa D. Price is a 2019 DMD candidate at Harvard School of Dental Medicine, spreading pain-free smiles, writing through her nights, and, once again, walking through her days.  Follow Mirissa's writing at http://mirissaprice.wordpress.com.