ike tate [ district seven ] fin

they etched his name
onto my forehead.

sue.
tate.

i did not know him.

despite our father's blood
burning through our veins
like poison,
i did not know him.

i asked my father
after my ears bled with his name-
"sue tate!"-
if he was of our blood.

he turned to stone
and nodded his head.
my eyes stared out to nothing
as the words
clawed against the air.

"he's my son."

when the story unraveled,
i wanted to cover my ears,
but i needed to know.

"i left sue and his mother
long ago.
i remarried and i had you
and your siblings," he said.

i said nothing
but in my silence
i was thinking of the cold
and the black
that must have crept around his heart.
(if his chest is not hollow.)

my eyes stared out at nothing-
blue and barren.

fear had risen in my chest
and crawled through my throat,
choking out any words
i could have mustered.

i was afraid to speak
or to meet his gaze,
for i did not want to see
if it was true that he is empty.

i asked my father,
when my ears bled with his final breath,
why he left.

"love," he said.

i said nothing
but in my silence
i was shaking my head
and scraping my gaze
against the floorboards.

and i will i look in the mirror
and run my gaze
along the curves of my face.
i will drag my eyes
against the sharp bridge of my nose.
and i will be grateful that i do not see
my father in my reflection.

i have my mother's eyes-
cerulean blue-
and her fair hair
and her beauty mark-
small and pale-
just above my lips.

i will look in the mirror
and i will not see him.

there is a shield clutched between my hands
and great wings sprouting
from my back.

i've fought fire with fire
and steel with steel
in the name of friendship.

they deserved it-
the backstabbers, the tormentors.

(i know their kind-
i once had a friend
just like them.)

i am a guardian-
there is a shield
clutched between my hands
and great wings sprouting
from my back.

i've fought battles
and riddled their minds with poison
in the name of friendship-
in the name of reese lachance.

they deserved it.

he is a gentle boy
with soft skin,
and he's a beacon
for the petty
and the cruel.

(but i've got swords
and they've got sticks.)

my father once glared at me,
cast his gaze into mine
like a dagger
and spat that my loyalty
would be my undoing.

and my lips hardened
into a flat line
of stone.

"so be it," i snarled.