Voices

“Leave . . .”
Jerked from sleep, I stare into darkness, unsure.
Stillness holds like a glass shelter waiting
for a harsh breath;
“Why don’t you leave?”
Doors slam.
Trapped- (do they know I’m here?)
Her voice is too high,
near breaking, but won’t give,
like a person off balance and fighting.
His is lost, but solid.
They are somewhere beyond the darkness--
“You don’t do anything! All you can do
is make fun of me. You just don’t give a care
about me. You can’t even answer
a single question I ask.You just keep
ignoring your wife, pretending that she’s
not trying to have a conversation with you
because you don’t know how
to have a conversation.”
Dragging a blanket over my head – a frail shield-
I remember . . .
I’m alone, (I know that I’m alone) no one is here, but
Warnings echo – this cocoon cannot block out
her face, her eyes.
“Thanks,
you know, we always fight
like shit when you come home
because you don’t feel you
have to follow any rules.
Just stay out of it.
It’s between your father
and me . . . not your business . . .
you don’t understand.”
Wrapping it up in grays makes it
easier for the eyes to pass over
“Are you trying to tell me how I . . .”
(blanks,so many blanks) “My fault,
you think it’s my fault, don’t you?”
Her fault? His? I close my eyes . . . mine?
Like a trained hawk, who flies in circles, chasing
an empty lure.
I wish she would cry –
maybe then I could understand.
Does he remember -the memory
I can’t soak from my heart?-
when he came to me,
his eyes
almost touched mine,
yet slid off, seeking distance.
“Just tell me – tell me when it’s been enough;
I know it hurts you too.”

Enough?
What does such a question mean to a child?
Does hope die before the heart?
“I can’t” but no one hears
my whisper-- stone ghosts don’t listen.
Blurred images with sharp teeth –
things never meant
to escape closed doors.
“Go to hell!”
Eyes, fists clenched; it’s not real-- gone . .
(not my life, not me . . . not now) only salvaged.
Lately she sits, book in hand- a clear glass
bowl of salad in her lap- distracted
by my absurd question, then waves
it away with her paused fork.
“He’s not here much anymore.”

Curl up, wrapping all I am around a remaining shard;
my body searches for the last memory of safety.