On the day I was born
I was loved.
But life has a tendency
to get
in the way of that.
Screaming in the kitchen-
he was throwing drawers
on the floor.
(I found a lost toy in the rubble)
I didn’t know
to try to hold on
to that feeling-
that feeling of home…
before they split up
before they left my purple toy car
in the empty house
full of screaming.
I missed the flowers outside in the summer:
tulips. Red and yellow.
While mother hung the
laundry in the golden light.
(I still remember her hair,
glowing with the light of the sun)
In the new house there was only gravel.
And a small closet
to stand in,
when He came over.
I stood in the dark,
flickering rays of fluorescent light
filtering through the accordion doors.
More screaming in the kitchen.
(but this was from a different man)
Car door slam, motor roar,
and gravel rained on the porch…
and I could hear my mother cry.
Maybe this is why
I can’t leave without saying
‘I love you’
I don’t want my daughters
to know what it
feels like…
to wonder
why love left.