far from the tree

my parents ballroom dance along the tiles,

falling against each other,

consumed with laughs and smiles.

and he can do no wrong.

leaves four bikes leaning

against my sister's cat-scratched baby grand.

i leave wrappers scattered around the keyboard,

and feel the wrath.

'mummy,

happy mother's day,

we love you very much'

cartoon scribble.

'you hate daddy.'

was was i thinking,

five year old me?

when now, thirteen years later,

it all seems a bad memory.

when all i remember is beer breath

and a plastic cup

making a welt on his head

as she lunged with anger.

and they screamed

how they screamed

and broke plates

at each other.

she smashed the windowpanes

and made a bonfire in a bin,

consuming all his things...

now daddy skids home in the rain

to hold my small mother in his arms,

making loving eyes at each other.

although she changed her last name.

so five year old me,

hides in terror.

and eighteen year old me

is convinced of her error.

memories false?

memories? false.