In My Black Pit Stomach


 I finally know what the feeling is.


It’s like my father being stabbed,

scissors jutting from his chest like a door knob,

a red coat rack that does not stop

throbbing, twenty years later

and I am too afraid to touch him,


to tell him that I want to take the scissors out,

I want to let him rest in his forgiveness,

tell him that his god is my god,

that I am too old to make his mistakes.

I just don’t have the stomach for it,

literally I cannot hold my liquor

even on those days when I need it

like he needed it

like a pair of scissors in the chest.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s