Currently worried about:
-my mom's health
-my little brothers in general
-that a certain judge will continue to make horrible decisions
-that I will one day be brought up on assault charges because I hired someone to beat the living hell out of a certain person
I could seriously throw up right now I'm so upset
This feels like a good time to revisit this poem:
Old Spice and Kitchen Knives
Some days I sit, one finger between
my teeth, imagining how easy
it would be, holding the cold
blade of a kitchen knife against
your throat. Listening to pleas fighting
past shallow breath, dim
words echoing in the air until
I push harder, deeper, then cut.
Other days I sit, one finger
between my teeth, imagining how hopeless
it would be to forget. You holding me
on your shoulders at my first
concert, your hands over my ears,
muffling fireworks, the smell
of Old Spice deodorant, how I used to dab
it under my nose to remember your scent,
that you were by my side as the anesthesia
forced me to sleep, as it wore off after
surgery. Though I try, it is hopeless to forget
building the sand box in the backyard,
hammering hand over hand or the hours
we spent in the kitchen frying
chicken, stirring homemade gravy.
Some days I sit, one finger between
my teeth, knowing it is impossible.
No comments:
Post a Comment