Repeated Journey
Mommy, you forgot.
I watched all the mothers and their children walk hand in hand out the school gates.
On the cold, hard concrete I sat
Waiting for you to realize there’s something you forgot.
Do you remember June 6th?
My classmates share stories of birthday cakes, parties, and presents.
I want what they have.
Singing the “Happy Birthday” tune,
The sound reverberating in the empty room
On the torn, unwelcoming couch I sat
Waiting for you to realize there’s something you forgot.
I recall the days you came to me drunk
Strapped me in the car before driving off,
Pulled up to the houses with the barred windows and fenced-in yards.
Time went on, and on, without your return.
On a stained, icy backseat I lay down my head
Waiting for you to realize there’s something you forgot.
Countless men came in and out.
I didn’t know knights rescue princesses so late at night.
Gunshots and screams serving as my lullaby,
Emergency lights serving as an escape from the darkness.
I can’t fall asleep without a bedtime story, Mommy.
How do I know there aren’t any monsters below my bed?
Underneath the thin, lonely sheets I hid
Waiting for you to realize there’s something you forgot.
Now I’m 16, Mommy.
I have a daughter of my own.
Her name is Nicole
I named her after you
She’s my world
I love her more than I’ve loved anything or anyone, but she’s still lacking love.
You see, she’s waiting for her daddy to realize there’s something he forgot.
And as I now stand at your grave,
I wipe the tears cascading down my cheeks.
You left me too soon, Mommy
There’s something you forgot.