I Never Asked Him about the Dark Woman in the Photo

I heard my parents arguing
until the coldest part of the night
held hostage “happily ever” from my mom.
Afterward, they shared no one bed
and erased their anniversary celebrations.
We ate in silence: pan fried liver and sweated onions.

I wasn’t supposed to know
my father brought her into our living room,
past our kitchen with the new microwave,
past all my siblings’ bedrooms.

I wasn’t supposed to know
this affair went on for months–
months my mother grew her voice
among self-slicing thorns and her wrist.

I knew my father paid for us to vacation
in Europe, which he canceled abruptly,
stepping on a sharp rock
and tripping over his marriage.

After the night when my parents fought,
no one could find their way back home.

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10 responses to “I Never Asked Him about the Dark Woman in the Photo

  1. Sadly and touchingly powerful.

    Like

  2. ouwie! slyvia plath-esque ❤

    Like

  3. Outstanding piece!!!!! Kudos 🙂

    Like

  4. wow..wonderful write up

    Like

  5. love this piece so much!

    Like

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