…
Popped eye, Christmas lights Tequila and lime, hairpin; hope
My father and I sitting in the greyhound station
For the umpteenth x’s 10 time,
He’s falling asleep and I am nervous because
I already miss him because
The city and childhood are two very far apart things because
This year my mom didn’t call,
And us
My sister and me, we
For some reason
Are still surprised.
Listen.
I don’t care to admit that it hurts. But the shock of remembering
That I have forgotten the sound of her voice
Will sting.
In the car my father said,
You have to stop blaming her.
You have to stop living your life like it isn’t yours
Like it’s some sort of effect
To her cause.
You are not your mother.
I cannot recall ever being this sad, this relieved,
To hear such truth.