josie’s parents

Josie hadn’t seen her parents touch in seven months

Seven months ago, her dad bumped into her mom

Grabbing a beer from the refrigerator with a grunt

The touch made her mom coil up all tight like a bomb

They had once kissed, she was sure, maybe hugged

Otherwise Josie wouldn’t exist, neither would Tom

But not anymore, now they just glared and shrugged

Her dad watched the TV and news, never her mom

Her mom smiled about new recipes and friends who

visited and words Tom learned, but never her dad

But they loved each other, they did, and Josie knew:

Because her mom would yell, clean the toilet, all mad

And her dad would yell back, Jesus sorry, I’m busy too!

Later, her mother would sit in satin and sob, all sad

Then she’d use the toilet, and find it scrubbed anew

She’s a genius, so she invited them both to her play

Making them talk to each other, it’s the perfect plan

Her mother showed up forty minutes early that day

Trembling with hope, all dressed up nice for one man

Josie watched as her mother watched the theatre door

Josie wore her beret while her mother wore her worry

The lights dimmed and the orchestra began the score

The chair beside her mother stayed cold, eyes blurry

A man, all dressed up, sits in the parking lot instead

They hadn’t let him in, a strict late policy, they’d said

Her two parents, stuck in separate orbits, Josie thinks

Then it’s Saturday, October sixteenth, five sixteen pm

It is the evening of a mild conversation over drinks 

Her mother grinning, clutching her wine glass stem

Her father’s eyes are not on the news, not on the TV

But rather on the dimple that graces his wife’s cheek

They are speaking of a memory of when they first met

Something about a frantic call and a sink that had a leak

Her mother thinks, I have to buy that gift before I forget

She tells him she’s going to go pick up some kitchen stuff

And Josie’s father says, Okay, and wants to say, I’ll miss you

–

The call comes late and Josie’s door is thrown violently ajar

She’s never seen her father look terrified before, is this it?

He grabs Tom in one arm, Josie in another, GET IN THE CAR

His hands shake on the wheel, little Tom’s throwing a fit

The emergency room has seen blood, guts, sticky children

But they have never seen a force quite like Josie’s father

His lips are red-bitten and his limbs are trembling again

Where is she, please God, I’ll get you all fucking fired

A doctor with a goatee comes in the lobby and kneels

He whispers some words Josie can’t hear, that Josie can feel

Something rising in her throat and beside her, he keels

She places her hands on the floor, feels the ground vibrate

As his raw-strung mouth screams, washing his face with salt

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