Crammed

Crammed
Into cardboard boxes,
Dusty pieces of her life
Sat heavy in the room.
I’d edge past the boxes
The way you might
A stray dog,
That looks hungry
And dangerous.

I told myself
There’d be no answers
In the old photos
And writing
That I hadn’t wanted.
How like my Dad
To force upon me
Unwanted memories
And secrets.

Picking at her remains
I scavenged for understanding
I knew I couldn’t have.
What had happened to her?
Did she know what happened to me?

His letter to her
“What am I supposed to say…
“You wanted another baby…”
“Lose some weight…”
Those last words
All in capitols
As if it’s the most important message.

I know how to lose weight Daddy,
I have starved my body
Until I was all bones and cold.
I wanted you to cut yourself
On my jagged edges.

Hair

I pull gently on my hair,
And cast aside a single strand.
My fingers return,
Searching for more.

I remember my Mother.
The uncombed dark and gray,
Limp on the hospital bed.
I fixated on the greasy tangles;
Avoiding the murky gaze
Of the frail stranger.
When did she stop bleaching?
How did she get so thin?

I check my hair again;
Compulsive.
Another blond piece
Clings to my fingers
I wonder how much
I can lose
And stay whole.