before the age of 7, i fell asleep in church, tucked between a plaid sheet and a red pew. my dress slid up and the burn of ill hands caressed my thighs. it was just a boy, a bit younger than i.

i snitched. i told on the naughty boy who pushed up my skirt and touched in a place that wasn't his to touch. i told and the adults laughed.

"children at play."

the process repeated, every tuesday night when my mother would bring me along to prayer service. the lights would be low. the adults would pray. and i'd hide behind the pews, fighting off the burn of ill hands.

he was just a boy, a bit younger than i.