Sandwiches of Pain
Sawdust on the floor, parents take
you out for a ride. The ride
stops, they let you out
at a street called divorce.
I don’t know the word for pain.
Dolor. Confused I look to the door;
older sister telling younger brother
that Mom and Dad are leaving each
other making little guy think they
were leaving him.
Self-pity. Let’s talk about pain:
locked in a closet, hit with a belt,
chastised for coming home late
with Dad, late after a fun weekend,
back to the grind and grounded
forever until 18.
I recall a wooden spoon she hit me
with, I forgive her, Mom was confused
this memory a ruse unless I put it
Thrown to the floor, my head split
“Don’t care,” said Tracy.
“I’ll care forever,” me to Tracy.
I trust you, I love you. Tracy