Empty Plates

This is about a child who is innocent, yet her mother refuses to acknowledge that.

I never asked you where babies came from because I knew-

I knew from the beards that would pick my friends up from school,

and the deep voices that spoke to them. 

You had none of these qualities.

 

I also knew from the scraps of love on my plate every night, and so I quit

waiting for you to hold my hand when we crossed the street.

And Mama, in sixth grade I stopped in the middle of the road because I knew you’d like me flattened

much more than breathing and looking up at you; blue eyes to green eyes.

 

The crowd was so big they just pushed me along and you said “don’t do that again”,

but you’re voice was focused ahead and not on me.

 

It’s okay because I don’t know where else you could focus yourself when your

past is grasping for those scraps, shoving them in her mouth like a rabid beast because

she might not get any for a long time. 

Where else can you look, Mama? Not at me.

 

It’s never at me and that is how I knew.  You never watched me, but I watched you sleep.

The curve of your body folding in on itself told me everything. The way you would wake up with a

start and jump back when you noticed my frame in the shadows relayed every detail.  

At first I thought to comfort you, but you told me to leave and cried to your knees, and in the morning

you could barely speak.

 

I never got scraps that day, so I licked the plate from last night

until it sparkled in the sun that you never seemed to notice.

I got angry sometimes because I was like the sun;

always there, but cut out with pulled blinds and closed doors.

 

One time in my angst I broke a few things.

Things we can never replace because a government paycheck isn’t enough for new cups,

let alone colored contacts.

 

Mama, more than anything I wanted to have your green eyes because I feared that my voice would grow deep and my beard would come in and not even scraps would be on my plate.

 

More than anything, I just wanted to know how I could stop being my father.

Author's Note

I've been messing around with my formatting. Any suggestions you have on that specifically would be great! I know this is a crucial part to making the piece flow together. Any other constructive criticism is appreciated.

Reviews

[LaVonneTheLovely]

Intense write!
the lines: I never got scraps that day, so I licked the plate from last night

until it sparkled in the sun that you never seemed to notice.

I got angry sometimes because I was like the sun;

always there, but cut out with pulled blinds and closed doors."

were especially chilling! Your note mentions your formatting. I don't have suggestions has to how to make it better- The ideas seem to be separated into bits that flow well and make sense. I especially like the last sentence standing on it's own. Very impactful. You have a nice talent! Keep writing!