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elizabeth-oPoems
Dad’s ocean is washing away The frame of our house. I am on the second floor, Riding the waters of Mother’s tears. I plug my ears with my fingers And hold my breath; I still feel the ebb and flow of his rage. The hypothermic water winds Around my toes like nooses. My body is a life vest Floating on top of a row boat bed. Its boards are rotten and creaking Under my adult weight. Our house is a fish tank. Everyone is staring through our windows with bulbous eyes as Rivers flow from our pains of glass.
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Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
Aquarium Life
Dad’s ocean is washing away The frame of our house. I am on the second floor, Riding the waters of Mother’s tears. I plug my ears with my fingers And hold my breath; I still feel the ebb and flow of his rage. The hypothermic water winds Around my toes like nooses. My body is a life vest Floating on top of a row boat bed. Its boards are rotten and creaking Under my adult weight. Our house is a fish tank. Everyone is staring through our windows with bulbous eyes as Rivers flow from our pains of glass.
Edited on 2/3/2016, published in the Spring 2016 issue of the Central Review at Central Michigan University.
#anger#mom#dad#parents#domestic
elizabeth-o
Written by
elizabeth-o
American
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
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