Co-consciousness on Anniversary's Eve
I was triggered tonight, by the corner
Wooden dollhouse. For a child who's molested
A dollhouse is a terrifying thing. For me,
Dolls groped other dolls and he sat nearby
In his upstairs office, drawing up blueprints.
Probably watching me... come to think of it
Walking by, even, on a trip to the bathroom.
You fucking prick. It was YOUR idea to set it up there--
Between your office and the bathroom. Upstairs
From Grammy in the kitchen. Irresistible
To youthful female fingers. In fact I think you even
Wrapped up tiny furniture sometimes at Christmas
And held us tightly to your lap to smile for some
Camera. Flash. They were all so fucking
Blinded.
I remember how he lay there those years later
On his literal death bed--it might have been
A year ago tonight in fact. I remember walking
Down the bright hospital corridor (it's funny
How the corridor is bright in my memory).
Dad told us that he'd have tubes in him, but
Nothing could have prepared me for
His quick cold stare when we came in
Then how he looked away, at my dad
And told him to send us outside. Too cowardly
To say goodbye to his granddaughters
As though he could shut his eyes to us
And protect himself from the wrath of God
Awaiting him in mere celestial moments....
That was the last time I saw him...
There was one more visitation, but I
Sat it out in the waiting room.
No one pressed me, because I was young, and I was
Known as a sensitive kid. But
What they didn't know was, that while they
Were saying there goodbyes,
I was searching inside for one that I simply
Did not have to give. I felt so ashamed...
So heartless. Though now I clearly see
That you did not deserve my goodbye.
I resent every tear that I shed
On the day we buried you. I deny
Every daily moment and all the more
That I grieved you. I hate you, purely
And fearlessly in my memories.
I have gone back in them
And gunned you down. In fact,
I might still go and smash your headstone
In the cemetery (3000 miles away)
One of these days. I hacked you
With a machete and surfed around
On your red pile of guts in my dreams, and I
Still hear the squish with every step I take
Towards joy in this lifetime
And I dance the night away
Each time the calendar echoes your death-day...
Wooden dollhouse. For a child who's molested
A dollhouse is a terrifying thing. For me,
Dolls groped other dolls and he sat nearby
In his upstairs office, drawing up blueprints.
Probably watching me... come to think of it
Walking by, even, on a trip to the bathroom.
You fucking prick. It was YOUR idea to set it up there--
Between your office and the bathroom. Upstairs
From Grammy in the kitchen. Irresistible
To youthful female fingers. In fact I think you even
Wrapped up tiny furniture sometimes at Christmas
And held us tightly to your lap to smile for some
Camera. Flash. They were all so fucking
Blinded.
I remember how he lay there those years later
On his literal death bed--it might have been
A year ago tonight in fact. I remember walking
Down the bright hospital corridor (it's funny
How the corridor is bright in my memory).
Dad told us that he'd have tubes in him, but
Nothing could have prepared me for
His quick cold stare when we came in
Then how he looked away, at my dad
And told him to send us outside. Too cowardly
To say goodbye to his granddaughters
As though he could shut his eyes to us
And protect himself from the wrath of God
Awaiting him in mere celestial moments....
That was the last time I saw him...
There was one more visitation, but I
Sat it out in the waiting room.
No one pressed me, because I was young, and I was
Known as a sensitive kid. But
What they didn't know was, that while they
Were saying there goodbyes,
I was searching inside for one that I simply
Did not have to give. I felt so ashamed...
So heartless. Though now I clearly see
That you did not deserve my goodbye.
I resent every tear that I shed
On the day we buried you. I deny
Every daily moment and all the more
That I grieved you. I hate you, purely
And fearlessly in my memories.
I have gone back in them
And gunned you down. In fact,
I might still go and smash your headstone
In the cemetery (3000 miles away)
One of these days. I hacked you
With a machete and surfed around
On your red pile of guts in my dreams, and I
Still hear the squish with every step I take
Towards joy in this lifetime
And I dance the night away
Each time the calendar echoes your death-day...
posted by Lovely Lady Grace at 10:42 PM
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