She keeps secrets in me.
Lifts my lid for privacy,
blows bubbles in my guts,
leaving evidence inside
with full impunity.
I am discreet
He spits bile inside me.
Hatred for his mummy
and the baby
and the way the teacher treats him
like he's soft.
I contain his scarlet ache safely.
I display names and dates,
scratched in perpetuity,
significant to no one now
I am their history.
I soak up saliva, endeavour, secretions, bad temper, frustration, intentions, and tears.
I echo young flesh bent double
over long division
water colour imprints of a small boy's dreams
wrought in indigo blooms
G rough-book margins.
I have held purple shame, ragged breath,
passed-around-the-class nasty notes,
stolen fuzzy felt, plasticine catharsis
coloured orange, blue, and green.
I am wood, legs, nails, holes, hurt.