Somewhere Along The Line (October 2024)

 

My skin’s stretched around my bones and I’ve shot up like a sprout 

Cracking the dirt, shoot from the root 

I always remember the seeds a little more this time of year 

Somewhere along the line carpet burns from the church basement 

resembling a houndstooth pattern and a level of residual guilt 

Became ink mantras and bite-marks from time spent in twin beds 

Whatever the source, my skin bruises and ruptures just the same 

Ever vulnerable- I am.

Dad fastening me up in the booster seat, in the back of the truck, somewhat precious cargo

My baby bangs touch the cold window, gazing out into midwestern nothingness 

He crushes another can while I nod off 

I don’t remember pulling into the garage, I was hoisted over his shoulder and delivered to my bed 

Now I forget the nights just the same, 

but now I drag myself to the mattress 

Now I’m the one kicking my cans under the passenger seat 

I am my father’s daughter