Suitcase Pop-Tarts

I can't remember how old I was

But I still had my plastic pink

Minnie Mouse suitcase

with the silver stars

and broken zipper,

but I threw a handful of pop-tarts

inside- probably the S'mores flavor-

and walked straight out the

front door.

I didn't understand

why my parents

couldn't stop yelling

at one another,

only that I hated the sounds

and surely I felt the angst

of being utterly misunderstood

and attention-starved

as most little girls do-

or at least, in one-child

"families"

when parents

are pre-divorced and

too occupied

to spoil their punkins anymore.

So I left.

I thought running away would set me

free,

that I could start over

somewhere else

and this time I had no intentions

of going to Nana's.

I just wanted to leave.

So I did.

I walked up the street

quickly enough so I could get a

head start

before my mother noticed my absence

When in reality,

my mother knew

from the moment she heard the screen door

clammer shut

what I was up to,

She just let me go

like a good mother would

surely knowing what was coming,

or maybe not.

I made it to the end of my block

and stopped

I stood there

and wondered if she had seen

my empty bed

If she had called my father

at wherever he was staying

those days,

called the police in a terror

crying over her fear.

I imagined her face

her open pores and

freshly plucked eyebrows

and I stood there for a good while,

waiting.

After what seemed an eternity-

four minutes at most-

I sat down in the pale, thin grass

of the lady with big dogs and a

front patio garden bed

and unzipped my suitcase.

The zipper got stuck

and I stuck my little hand inside,

pulled out the pop-tarts

and ate them one by one.

Then I laid down in that

dry and scratchy grass

and fell asleep.