Handprints

Handprints on my arm
my face, my thighs
I deemed back then
I wouldn’t cry

Not since I’ve shed a tear
I would do that, mommy dear

At age three
I wondered why
You’d seem to laugh
If I’d cry

You’d cut my hair
With wicked delight
And then seemed pleased
With my plight

I didn’t know then
Where to turn
I only knew
It wasn’t home