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| photo by mindlovemisery |
“He
was more of a father to me
than
my own lousy father,” said she
I
wondered how bad it really must be
for
an eight year-old to say those words
so casually
Then
she said, “Light blue
is
my favorite color.”
Just
another fact
And
I pause to react,
“You
really miss your grandfather.”
This
is, after all, about grief
Speaking
it to give some relief
So
she speaks
Her
words explode,
bullets
searching for a target
Granddad
let her spend the night
when
Mom and Dad would scream and fight
Now
she has nowhere to go
to
escape the horror show that plays
itself
out when Dad starts to drink
And
she thinks he learned it
from
his own dad
The
cursing, that is,
The
alcohol, too
And
one time, he choked Mom
til
she was almost blue
The
dog is scared of him
‘cuz
he get a little intense
She tries to make it all make sense when
anyone
can see it’s just insane
“Are
we going swimming if it starts to rain?” she asks me
And
we’re off on something else now
and
I remember reading about a flower
whose
color depends on the soil pH
What
color will she bloom, growing in hate?
Who will
nourish her now or
Is it
too late
for this
flower to flourish?
for this
girl of eight?
submitted for Prompt 13, Photo Inspiration, at mindlovemisery
