I see
but do not feel
until my dad
trudges off
to his new house,
to his new family,
to his new life.
Then it comes,
in a rush
of hurt
and tears.
Mom stands by,
impassive,
robotic,
as the ground
is split,
unevenly,
craggily,
isolating us,
on our own little island.
That night,
I start.
I find the cabinet,
miraculously,
unlocked and
full to the brim,
with a depressed girl's dream.
There's whiskey
and beer
and wine
and more.
I rench out a bottle,
without even looking,
and gulp
and gulp.
My friend
won't answer
her phone,
even though,
when she heard,
she said she'd be there,
for me.
I call up this kid,
this jackass I know,
who likes to undress
women
with his eyes.
Mom is out,
with friends,
as if I should
be left
alone.
He arrives,
quick,
in a beat-up
old truck,
motor running loud,
his friends
in the back.
He hands me
the bong,
the bong
I promised Dad
I'd always say no to,
before he met
his receptionist,
his slutty blond
receptionist.
I lead him inside
and we do
what he's wanted,
since he saw me
in the senior hallway.
When I finish,
I know
my life will never be the same.
I'm trapped
because of the craggy split.
But I won't let them
do this to me.
I open my notebook
and write.
