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Kiley
My father was the ultimate disciplinarian
without ever laying a hand on me.
Whenever I did something bad, he'd sit me down
talk to me like an adult
then kill one of my pets.
One day I decorated the side of the house
with a hot glue gun, pushing insects
and leaves and flowers into the red gunk
spelling my name.
He showed me the error of my ways
by chasing my cat
with his power mower. She managed to escape
but her babies, the little fluffy gray one
the two calico girls
and the black and white tom kitten
weren't fast enough
I never went near my father's tools again.
I told myself
I would hit my kids when they were bad.
I'd take them over my knees
and whomp them into cherubs.
But it's not good enough. My son
just got caught shoplifting--the police
are bringing him home right now.
It's time to learn him some respect.
Where is that damn dog....
S.
he is the right person at the wrong time
and I will die if I lose him.
I will make myself fit around him
be pleasant and sweet so he stays. I will lose myself
in his goodness, his silent promises
of security and trust and
television good looks. This is the closest I have ever come
to ideal love and I will not lose this.
he heals without even knowing how damaged
I am, how hard it is to let him
love me, how hard it is
to love back. the smell of his skin
is cool heaven, is calming
I will not let him leave me.
I won't live through this.
Absolution
your words suck the life
out of me, run in my blood
for days, weeks-I want you
even though you don't remember me
maybe because you don't remember
bleeding I lie in bed, absolved
of what we did, absolved
of what might have been
still wishing I could have used this
against you, had something inside me
to make you stay
Holly Day's poetry, fiction, and nonfiction have
most recently appeared in Canadian Woman Studies, Phoebe, and Whiskey
Island. She currently works as a reporter and a writing instructor in
Minneapolis, Minnesota, and lives with her two children and her husband.
Email: Holly Day
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