dear grandfather,

you left the television on
you left your flannel where you always put it
a bottle of your favorite soda still in the fridge
you also left your records here
but when i played them this time
the sound didn't hit me right
the crackling wasn't how i remembered it
as soon as the needle hit
the room grew colder
and a lot bigger

dear grandfather,

grandma doesn't sound the same anymore
she can only fake a smile
her humming has morphed into a sigh
the house is too quiet
i tried to play another record but
grandma said that some things should be left where they lay
i don't know what she's going to do with them
or your couch
or your flannel
or your soda
or the looming shadows in the corner of the family room where we used to gather

dear grandfather,

i'm quickly starting to settle into the fact that you're gone
forever

dear grandfather,

your records are still there
i haven't been able to gather the strength to play them
or even entertain the fact that they'll sound the same

dear grandpa,

this couch is too big
your flannel is growing thin
the soda is flat
the house is still cold

dear grandpa,

today i played some Elvis
and i swear that the crackling of the record synchronized with the cracking of my heart
and every bittersweet harmony coaxed the tears from my eyes

dear papa,
i swear i heard you humming along

There are strings. Nine strings? No, nine of some-wheres,
plus one black when. Back then, they weren't strummed, but they're
vibrating from, or to something. Something flat. Real is flat. Real and
flatter than. The fattest lie is the fastest why I can come up with. I can
tell you: I've lived this sigh before. Not a sigh, so much. As a breath
between, death's hidden in the greens, and life. Life's again. Then's death.

Here's the new guide on ****** assault prevention
Ladies, sit back for a change.
This one's for men.

It's an easy two word phrase,
"Don't ****."
Didn't Mama ever tell you to be patient,
Or to keep your hands to yourself?
Or even to only take what's yours,
And only go to parties that you are invited to?

My body is not yours to take.
And you crashed that party.

These seem like elementary school basics to me.

I will not forget you.
Would I like to forget you? Or what you did to me?
Perhaps.  But I will not.
Do not.  Cannot.  Have not.

I do not forget you.
Certain places, touches, people
Remind me of you, of us, of that fateful day.
I did not forget you.

I have not forgotten you.
I cannot be near a farm without a memory
Invading my mind and my heart.
I cannot eat or smell a mushroom without flashbacks flooding through my head.
You put them there.

I cannot forget you.
I did not choose promiscuity, abusive relationships, or self-harm.
You chose them for me.
I did not choose to give it all away to some devilish boy cooing in my ear,
"I love you, Sarah."
But that was my new normal.

It is not normal.
And it is not now.

I once had hoped to forget you.
To block out the pain associated with your name.
I did not want anything to do with you.
I did not want to believe you hurt me.
I did not want to deal with the mess you left behind
While you gave into your own selfish impulses.

Now I do not choose to forget you.
I allow myself to feel the hurt when I need to.
I allow myself to mourn the loss of my innocence.
I allow myself to acknowledge that I am not completely "moved on"
And I let you be my motivation to help others.

I do not have to forget you.
I chose a life for myself in order to deal with it
Feminism, activism, writing.
And frankly,
That is quite okay with me.

my feet are extremely sore
this afternoon
as I've been on them
well before noon
standing on a cement floor
which hasn't any give
has made my feet feel
like they haven't long to live

I've just put them up
for a reviver and rest
and in about three hours
they'll be full of zest
the arches of my feet
is where the discomfort lies
I've just heard them
let out one or two sighs

it is hoped that I can stand
to cook my dinner tonight
for if I can't I'll know my feet
have given up the fight
so often my webbed feet
do harangue me no old end
it's as thought their telling me
we're not your friends

my darling,
you were my heaven -
hallowed be thy veins.
thy kingdom come, my affection won.
your love, though a hellfire, was heaven.
give me a chance to clear my head.
forgive me, for not recognizing
your voice among the masses,
as i forgive those who break my trust.
lead me not into isolation
but deliver me from myself.
for thine is the space
here in my ribcage
forever & ever.
amen.

- m.f.