poem by
AUTUMN GREMAL
bruises on your cheekbones
red nail polish on your toes
never to step foot in the center of crossroads
you held a screaming crying infant in
your left arm and a torch in your right
watermelon wonder woman 3 in 1 shampoos
smoking a cigarette on the balcony and reading Sunday news
pork chops and applesauce
single mother blues
by age 10
I hated men
you taught me they were cruel
bandaids on my knees
barbies in the bathtub
dirt in my tennis shoes
old navy khaki capris
stained with grass from meadows of green
retention ponds, blackberry bushes, and frankincense fumes
of all the mothers I could’ve had
I’m glad that it was you
you taught me how to brave the night
when darkness was often
and light was few
of sparrows and nightingales
one part whiskey and two parts clove
patron saint of having one foot in the door
and cutting up ex boyfriend’s clothes
crayon scribbled nonsense in all book covers
and dimly lit alcoves
preening fairy wrens and rural farm field crows
eating cheerios on a blanket in warm summertime groves
flowers dancing around us
singing prayers for rain
sink or swim just like you taught me
helpful when I’m alone
a concoction of valerian root and rose
aids a sleepless night
to wash away the pain
astral dreaming etiquette and prose
now there are no thoughts behind your eyes
we are both dark and we are alone
I will never speak to who you once were again
but I see you every night when I try to picture
home