Crystal French

"We don’t sell crazy here,"
he says as he cums on my leg
Drifting into his high he throws one hairy calf over mine

Dressed all in black, like a criminal,
convenient, given what I am planning to do.
I have worn a black lace bra, black lacy panties (new and borrowed for this occasion.)

But there will be no closure
Not even 20 years later.
I never cried
Not then
At the funeral I can’t touch his body
I still can’t forgive myself for that

Fever bright eyes
Dilated and darkened
Precursors to
Crazy with teeth
Maniac smile

Sun kissed bangs hide
glittery eyes

heavily medicated
sparkle

Snuggling
your two year old budda belly
curled into my body
warm soft cheek to cheek

your body turned away from me
partially obscures your face
the tears you are trying to hide

This is a poem that I wrote in 2001, when I was finally struggling with my feelings over my father’s abuse, alcoholism and drug addiction, and ultimate suicide. It was published that same year.

When they laid my infant head in your fumbling teenaged hands
Are you sorry?