Untitled by Selma Deera, from Letters From Medea

‘tell me some facts about yourself,’ he asks.
‘sure,’ she says.
she knows he doesn’t really want to know about her.
not mentally, anyway.
so she gives him what he wants.
‘i have many facts,’ she tells him.
‘here are some—
‘my father loved my brother more than he loved me.
my father loved using his fists more than he loved using his mouth.