a poem comparing my childhood to that of a war survivor, not always a soldier. |
I’ll keep these old prescription bottles Empty tubes of mascara Charred photo albums Broken razor blades And sew them onto my sleeves Like Purple Hearts Decorating the war record of my childhood Father, what have you done? Silver Stars Tarnished brass buttons Crisp brown sleeves Shiny, shiny shoes Hide your blood Scrub away my tears and fears Lying and saying it’ll be better some day Father, what have you done? You saw her You ignored them Your heart a useless muscle Flooding every stream of blood in your body Except your brain It didn’t matter to you It never should have mattered to us Father, what have you done? The house was quiet The four winds shattered the trees The ghosts almost took him Told him you were gone You almost took her We almost lost everything I said we were never yours Father, what have you done? I sit here now, blood boiling, fitful rage There’s nothing I could ever do Regret The only way out is to forgive, forget How can I believe When words like “love” and “life” Become so trivial so quickly Father, what have you done? |