Salt: A Poem
Trigger Warning: AbuseIn the mouth of my motheris a sinking something.I know things are drowningwhen she forces her eyes shutto keep the tears inside.I wish one of these days,she would burst openand let the flood out.The way a man hits his wifewhen anger runs through his mind-it's almost as though he forgetsthat the same tenderness oncecarried him as a child.Now you will find me on Sunday nightslearning how to press a bone back intomother's skin because that's what the wrathof a man does-it rips things apart-sometimes, out of a bodysometimes, out of a woman's heart.Mother and I worry about how to sleep at night-do we close our eyes or watch for whena hand reaches out to strike us dead.But I know love-Love as the food we eat.Love as the songs we sing.Love as the weaponswe kill each other withbecause what better way to diethan by the hand that raised you,turned into a gun.Bullets as hugs.I have lost the weather forecast for my funeralbut God loves a rainy day for a corpse;said it washes the goodbye away.The length of our sorrow is long enoughto pave the path to our homebut who wants the feet of their guestssoaked in blood?Who speaks of the war before it starts?In this town, everyone builds a tongue of salt.We rinse our mouths and season each wordbefore it gets out.After twenty years it is now I knowfeeling fear and speaking it are not the same.That on some days "come here" means"I want to do something to your body and you might bleed"That on some days "I won't hurt you" means"the pain isn't bad enough to make you cry"That love becomes a pistol and the manwho pulls the trigger once taught youhow to danceTwo steps forward, one step back.Run. This house is on fireand you'll burn to the ground.Today, I want to hang from a roof,stitch a poem in my wrist for motherto find but what a broken languagethat would be-To say I'm sorry instead ofI did this because I wanted to.Couldn't you see he was killing us?To say I hope you find a way out instead ofCome along with me.Life is better on this side.God was at the door andHis arms felt like home-the kind that make you want to stay