The Rest of the Story

Where were you the first time you looked at me
and saw yourself in my face?
You told me you were living your life over through me.
You told me I would be the death of you

I stand beside your bed waiting, waiting
for you to draw your last breath
Knowing I have come home too late. I am dead to you already.

We shared consecrated Sundays
fishing in our secret spot near Toppins pier
No one found us there. No one looked.
I baited hooks. You smoked.

I force myself to bring my face to your mouth and inhale your breath
I watch you sleep. Your bloated flesh is the color of creek scum
Finally I speak the unsaid words.
I’m home, Mama. I’m sorry.

I wanted more from life than croakers and soft shelled crabs
I wasn’t your shadow or your savior
Mama, I ran away from you long before I left


Leave a comment

Filed under Breadcrumbs, Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s