City Swimming
November 19th, 2011 § Leave a Comment
BOSTON SAND & GRAVEL
JELLY FISH EXHIBIT, NEW ENGLAND AQUARIUM
UP THE DOCK
Statements At Five
October 3rd, 2011 § 3 Comments
I’m a demon for soft things.
Go fart yourself off.
Daddy can you hold my nuts?
Mama Instincts
September 17th, 2011 § 2 Comments
Eat the heel.
Make a sauce.
Instill proper wonder of life.
Surreal Moments
April 13th, 2011 § 1 Comment
Drifting off to sleep with two fingers pressed to slightly parted lips.
The bridge is moving (falling down).
Sending the kids to my moms. No milk money till tomorrow.
Outer Limit
March 28th, 2011 § Leave a Comment
A carved X
Mottled history lesson
recondite blood trail too dark
Hay(na)ku By She With The Blackish Brown Eyes
March 23rd, 2011 § 4 Comments
WATERMELON
good
pink and
green and juicy
DADDY
I
love daddy
walks with him
JUNGLE
monkeys
in jungle
swing on vines
Daddy Issues
January 26th, 2011 § 9 Comments
You aren’t often here with us old man, what a treat. Its time for dinner. But you don’t cook. I’m old enough to go into the yellow breakfast nook and look around, what would I have? Cereal. It’s easy and I love it and I settle at the table with the box and the milk. I can’t see my brother, I cant remember my brother, what he ate or where he was, the memory is just two things, the sound of cereal in my bowl for the 2nd time and the face my dad had when his disgust came out as rage,
“Two bowls of cereal makes you a pig.”
Again, in the same apartment, another memory. The smallest suitcase, my brother and I in deep shit. I don’t remember what we did. It was the middle of the day. My mom was not there, another time the old man is babysitting us, yep, we are his but what a CHORE we are, what a burden to distract him from what he wants to do, the bottle the bottle, the tv, shut out, shut off, shut down. He says “get the fuck out. Pack your shit and get the fuck out.” My brother and I are sobbing, so scared, so disjointed, minds spinning, have we been prepared to do this? to walk away, to grab our stuff and go and part of me is begging my mom to appear and part of me is thinking I would rather be away than with this man and part of me is terrified beyond rational thought. I have no escape plan, after leaving its a blank page, the edge of the world, no world drawn in, like that stupid Daffy Duck cartoon where a malevolent Bugs messes with the world Daffy is cruising in. I have no idea, and I have no hold on my brother and I will be alone. I pack. Underwear and my jewelry box. That’s all I think of. The jewelry box is gold with a picture of a ballerina on it and it’s my prized possession although all it has is soda can tabs, a “lucky charm” that is really a spark plug calibrator or something and plastic 80s earrings. That’s what I pack in the smallest suitcase. My brother uses a bag and we are out of breath now and can’t cry and are gasping for air, hiccupping at the top of the stairs, getting ready to descend and get the fuck out and my mom comes home and we are saved. They chuckle at what I packed.
The dreaded meeting occurs in my room, the room I shared with some other crazy and it’s the doctor and my mom and my dad and I am adamant my dads drinking has nothing to do with this, the house is good, the house is safe, the secrets stay intact, my parents did nothing, I’m the one who failed, I’m the one imperfect, it’s not his drinking, it’s not the drinking, it’s not the distance, the smell, money gone, the attitude, the detachment, the medicating drunk, it’s not the drinking, doctor its me, its me and my dad turns to me with his bloodshot eyes, always bloodshot and puts his hand on my shoulder and touches me and I don’t remember the last time he voluntarily touched me and he has tears in his bloodshot eyes and says
“Evelyn, you know I love you, right?”
