Today's poem is by Chris Mattingly
Bon Fire
Out back of the house Mom and I are feeding a fire
Furniture broken from a fight. The wood so cheapIt melts like glue. Like faces in the family photographs.
The mattress will be last, so for now it's a fireside seatShared with the pack of reds and pint of Early Times.
Yellow smoke hovers over our heads like wordsWe don't sae. There is a narrative here:
Implied in the ridge of fist marks shading her jaw,Embedded like the broken glass in her boyfriend's foot
When he stumbled out hungry, mumblingSomething about supper, and she sprayed
A fistful of gravelly words making him cat-scatterBack in the house. l want to tell her this won't last.
If for no reason other than he will overdoseSix months down the road. She'll move deeper
Into the country of her estrangement.And I will leave for the coast, opting for a backseat bed
In a Honda Accord over the basement mattressIn a Dark and Bloody Ground. I wish I could
Run my fingertip in circles on her sweaty palmOr pat my hand like a wing upon her back and say, OK
Mom, you'll be my daughter. And I'll be the fatherYou never knew. I will lift you from your burning life
And carry you to the river where we'll sitLicking ice cream cones. But I can't. I'm only 19
And still think I'm going to live forever.That half of everyone I'll ever love I haven't met.
That when I leave I'm leaving for good.
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Copyright © 2013 Chris Mattingly All rights reserved
from River Styx
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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