Braille

I remember the books with the yellow spines
and the browning pages
that you used to read to me like they were
new.

I remember the pink carpet
that you put over the plywood floor
to make me feel like I was a queen

(when in reality
I was nothing more than a daughter).

I remember wanting to burn down the walls
and walk away from the ashes.

I remember loving the smell
of the grass in the morning
and running my fingers through it
like it was a head of hair
even though I knew
that the dew would make my fingers wet
and cold.

I remember reading the world like braille
and not understanding a word.