Investigation

I have stopped looking
For this thing they call j
I lost her
On the bench
In the words
In the bed that smells like Borax.
I hug the powder snuggle the powder praise in finding it in my little red bush
i am so clever
the prickles nick the back of my hands the knuckles which belong to j the knuckles run along bumpy walls for so many years for so many years
I lick the red dribbles the moisture from the bag the little bag which keeps the powder safe for me how easy to hide how easy to disappear how easy to lose j
Everything leaves when nobody looks any more
My feet make no noise as I hustle through the leaves to the spot
where i am me and me and me
Tomorrow I will sit in the chair smile and nod
I will not hear the words thrown at me like Borax
I will not tell them that this case is closed
That I have stopped looking
For this thing that they call j.