A m a n d a D e o
She Thought They Had Something Special
She caught my dad getting pulled over for speeding near the house he no longer lives in. He was driving a car she didn’t recognize on a stretch of road that couldn’t spell anything. There was a wealth of trees standing between the guardrail and his upside-down spine. He wept onto the pavement like he was alone. He held his hands out, palms up, for the cop. He looked like he could have been asking for lashes but she knew he was trying to remember what it was like to hold their youngest son.
I’m in a City You Hate
I’m in a city you
hate. I’m in the way
you wished I kept
locked in.
I’ve got a phantom
limb that reaches
around your waist
while you sleep and
knuckles that curl
around a kidney I’ve
already taken.
It will be morning before
you even realize this.
It will be someone else before
the tide comes in and rescues you,
wet and slippery, from me.
When I put you down
you won’t hear the
pins of my shoulders
come back up for air.
I’m growing as I leave.
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