Father-Daughter Dance

When I was thirteen years old I got punched in the face. 
I stood in the kitchen doorway and screamed at you until my throat hurt, 
my insults splashed onto the white linoleum like vomit
and tasted just as sour in my mouth. 
I thought you would scream back, but you didn't, 
you just moved closer closer closer with that look in your eye 
that you got when you came home too early in the morning
before the sun even came up yet.
I opened my mouth to scream again but your fist shot out,
clipped the side of my head, 
(I heard the whoosh sound it made
soaring jet-plane fast by my ear)
made Looney Tunes stars and birds 
circle around me,
my crash helmet,
my halo, 
my crown.