I’ll Never Have Enough Birthdays to be Able to Wish You Back Here With Me
I remember my father like I remember what I had for breakfast this morning
and I don’t want you to laugh at that
because I only remember what I had for breakfast this morning
just barely
I remember waking up to cartoons on TV
not realizing that my father has left me
too entranced by the pretty words of comedy
I remember being pushed out into a crime scene
police crowded around the TV
my father on the floor
and my mother probably thinking that only my father’s touch would be comforting
my father
laying in the middle of the living room floor
like a statue that has fallen from his stand
with nothing to help him stand up again
not breathing
I remember being angry
because there were police crowded around the TV
my father on the floor
people pushing past as if they did not see me
I remember being angry
because my ten year old cousin got to go to the hospital and not seven year old me
but he was my father and not hers
apparently little girls my age should not be seen or heard
I remember making promises that day
I’ll wash my hands
I promise
I won’t say a word
I promise
I’ll be on my best behavior
I promise
but they were promises unspoken
and I went to my grandmother’s house that day lonely and unwanted
like a baby’s toy broken.
you see I remember my father like I remember what I had for breakfast this morning
but I remember my mother that day
and in the weeks that followed
as a birdbath
made an antique before its time
paint chipped and hardly enough water to cleanse a baby bird who then yet didn’t know how to fly
I remember getting down on weak knees and trying to smooth the wrinkles out of my mother’s face as if she were a sheet
whispering sweet words of ‘it’s okay. it’s all going to be okay’
but I was only seven years old and to this day I don’t know what ‘to be okay’ means but I had never seen my mother cry like that
had never seen her as she slowly ran out of steam
her once strong engine heart riding on a train track to nowhere
I remember sitting by her bedside thinking ‘mommy promise me you won’t go anywhere.’
I am not even sure if I ate breakfast at all
but I’m sure I’ve forgotten his face
the curve of his smile
the warmth of his hand
I remember only grey shadow that felt like home
I remember being confused as to why suddenly I felt so alone
I remember punch buggy no punch back and still getting hit anyway
I remember him driving with his knees and me screaming my head off afraid I won’t live to see the next day
I remember him pulling out one of my two front teeth
I remember sitting outside of the funeral home on the curb playing with a leaf
I remember things that I will eventually come to forget
like the curve of his smile
or the warmth of his hand
© Shae Smile, 2012
oneslamaweek 