Wedged

Caity-Shea

 

I never thought I’d still be breathing at 45,

painted skulls on tiny coffins

to distract my broken mind.

But now I’ve tasted worth

and felt confidence creeping up my spine.

I know you had a lot of problems,

always told me you were trying.

And I have felt deep purple blood

flow from your heart into my veins

and I have known the ones you’ve cared for,

watched you take on all their pain.

And I have saved all of your cards,

the ones you simply signed “love, Dad,”

but all those words were not from you

they poured from Hallmark interns’ hands.

They say you’ve only got one father,

best forgive while he’s alive.

But I don’t think you know I’m angry

and if you do, you don’t know why.

I’ve explained, been patient, got angry,

shouted, got up and paced.

I tried to learn safe ways to love you

but it turned into a chase.

And I’m getting to the age where someday

I’ll be a mother and I’m terrified

that I’ll define love by how I suffered.

Hold my child’s hand and shudder

think of broken dishes clutter,

fluttered heart when I hear “Cutter,”

I will never know my brother.

Other-Life.

Crossing armed borders every Christmas,

is this CD stuck on a loop

or am I having future visions,

can I still be my new self here,

freshly fired girl of clay,

or will their haunted silence crack me,

rip my stitches into fray.

I feel ashamed for leaving,

resent this selfish travelogue.

Each call ignored feels like

I’m putting down an injured dog.

But my ribcage is police state,

barbed wire wraps each rib

and though I want to tear them down,

I need them up to be your kid.

I’ve started sewing all the tears,

putting the broken shards in place,

but to trust it in my bones,

I need to learn that love is safe.

And though you now let your rage simmer,

turned the burner down to low,

my darkness brought to light your selfishness

in ways I can’t unknow.

I know you’ve gone through all your changes,

you’re much better for the scars.

But it took me and mom leaving

for you to notice we were gone.

And I am sorry that you see now,

almost better if you’re blind,

because I’m taking back that little girl

and leaving you behind.

 

 

Caity-Shea Violette

Caity-Shea Violette

Staff Literary Associate at Halcyon Theatre
Caity-Shea Violette is a writer and actor based in Chicago, IL. She holds a BFA in Theatre with an emphasis in Acting from the University of Minnesota- Duluth and is a graduate of the St. Paul Conservatory for Performing Artists. Caity-Shea is passionate about sharing the stories of women, particularly survivors of sexual and gender-based violence, by creating new work for the stage and page. She is a company member and the staff Literary Associate at Halcyon Theatre.
Caity-Shea Violette

Latest posts by Caity-Shea Violette (see all)

  • Heartening.

  • Molly Coeling

    Thank you for sharing this. So deeply moving.

  • I freaking love this poem. Freshly fired girl of clay? Brilliant. Keep dipping that pen and getting the words out.

  • This is book club material. Take one line at a time. Digest. I had a difficult relationship with my dad as well. He’s been gone for nine years. Thank you for expressing the layer upon layer of emotion so beautifully.