Mama's hands were smooth and cool
When she pushed my hair back and told me not to worry
Because sometimes mommies and daddies fight, but that's okay.
My childhood stretched before me
A long dirt road where daddy's absence hung in the air like
The sour smell of whiskey
On his breath
When he tucked me in at night
He always had the same shade of lipstick smeared on his neck
I found it later in a Walgreens downtown
Revlon number seven, Not Your Mother's Mauve
How ironic, I thought.
Because Mama never did wear lipstick

I remember nights where she sat in the living room
Painted blue, she kept her anguish in a secret place
Where I am not, and daddy always will be
She kept him there
Suspended in a light
Not of scrutiny but of love
And I hated him for it
Because my mother's loss would tear her apart
And I was left behind a closed bedroom door
The grieve for my happy family.