Black Hand

His black hand 
on my white belly 
and I can't even pronounce his name 

The saxophone 
keeps on playing playing 
origami birds fly above my head. 

I'm 15 
and I miss home 
but only happy letters get across the sea 

If not your eyes 
that saw it all 
I could easily pretend it was just a dream. 

Dear Anna, 
It's good you don't keep in touch. 
How would we talk about it now?