Today's poem is by Lauren Crawford

Reverse Abuse
       

Pools of water drag soot into a swirl
up from the shower drain. Each clear droplet
blackens before scaling the slopes

of her calves. Mom scrubs ash into her hair.
When my father comes back home,
his tires wipe clean the dark tracks

on the driveway, he unslams the front door
and hurries inside. As I flail in my crib,
my shrieks slowly lull me back to sleep,

and my mother realizes he's not abusive.
She loves him. My father ungrits his teeth
and pulls Mom out of the fireplace.

He caresses her cheek, cups the pleats
of her frown lines digging into the seams of his
knuckles. He unslaps her and she swallows

the sound of her scream. The chimney inhales
the massive black cloud that surrounds her,
sucking away the smudges on her arms.

My father's spit leaps back onto his tongue
before he swallows it. Mom cooks supper
for us while the chicken unburns on the stove
and the last specks of ash burrow beneath the flames.

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Copyright © 2024 Lauren Crawford All rights reserved
from Ponder Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission