To You From Me
I wrote a poem for you.
Let's call you me
Me, you, him, they
I want to say
I wrote a poem for James
I've seen you seethe in anger, cry, outrage
I've seen you cry in different ways
Waking with pillows soaked with guilt, heartache, embarrassment and longing
I've heard your laughter so deep and real that it echoes on the lips of others -
I have seen you laugh as a torment disapproval, disgust, dismissal
You've hurt and hurt others with intent and by accident
Your tongue is sharp -- double edged
Remember this, "One day your ass is going to be kicked because of your mouth!"
How old were you the first time that was said to you through gritted teeth?
Eight? Nine? Eleven? twelve? -- early
What is this dissociative mess?
Is this an apology or a thank you note?
I'm sorry you're a "dick," because you hurt people's feelings
I'm sorry you're a "bastard."
A bastard from a legitimate couple, but abandoned by a father who walked in the
same house, slept in a room near you who gave up on you at thirteen.
A bastard because of your "fucking mouth"
I'm a bastard, because I stood up for my mother rather than allowing a closed
mouth and silent tongue as my sisters bullied their mother. My mother -- a
mother I miss.
Thank you for the truth
You try your most to speak the truth.
Yes, you may flourish, elaborate, embellish, or "Mad Libs" it when a memory
becomes vague or faint.
Thank you for being kind.
Yes, it's true. You can be.
James, why did I write this note?
Because sometimes we forget