They say that heroes never cry.
They couldn't be more wrong.
I've seen tears cascade down your pallid face
for everyone but you.
After the foulest words vanished
from the tense fights that ended day,
the silence was deep enough to hear your sorrow
patter the linoleum.
Wine spilled on your calendar,
someone begging you to speak.
You weren't talking, the telephone hung, you rested,
weeping as you slept.
I rose on tip-toe to find food,
dry macaroni on fragile baby teeth.
I sat to play Candyland, but only my pawn ever moved.
I heard you sniffle.
Your hand squeezed mine that night.
Friends gave comfort, useless, non-descript.
The car that faded around the bend held essence
of running mascara.
I felt your eyes count my bones.
You crept into my room to check,
unsure if the steady rising and falling would be there
through glassy eyes.
Dad betrayed us both.
My palms bled in the waiting room.
The pain I caused made me pine to live like we did once.
All the while I cried.
Happiness is finally home.
The love we share is endless.
But the memories play over like a song stuck in my head.
I guess I am a hero too.
