Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Day 357
12:00 am
–
barely there now
–
their fights were the stuff
of shooting stars in the war of words,
flying daggers under the expanse
of fluorescent
lights and corian countertops,
two girls, who once placed the pedestal
of their daddy far above their bunk bed,
wielded little palms across ears and
eyes like shields to deflect verbiage of pins
that needled a perforated future with each
fiery passage between mom and dad
he never meant to hurt their children
and he thought he’d never get caught
or find himself here, begging his
wife to
stop drilling and caulking and welding,
but there was no time left to open
more doors
and there were words, like the truth,
not meant to be taken back, as there
are wounds that lead to a mother
informing her daughters they would
only see their father, and all men for
that matter, through these, weary walls
and torn screens and heavy bars
and sealed windows
she presided over the years as
protector and prophet,
as their father, and
all men that mattered, became
smaller and smaller and out of welcome
reach and much too much to want and
way too hard to see
–
–
tkk
–
–
