1974

Did you ever floss their teeth?
Their saliva dripping all over you -
laughing at the scene?

Did you ever gently shove a laxative up their ass? -
despite their cries
knowing it would help them, but hating it just the same.

Did you ever wash their mouth with soap?
When they told you a Lie
Or did you let it slide-
Because it was easier-
Or, the ultimate insult, not even notice their deceit.

Did you ever hold your daughter when she was screaming-
enraged, kicking, hysterical?
Trying to calm her grief?

Did you push them out from between your legs?
With or without drugs-
Or companionship-
Or love or support?

Did you adore them, worship them
Did you even love them?
Did you ever love me?

Or were we just your pretty family
For you to show off
And take care of you
A minor inconvenience?

Do you know their favorite colors, their favorite foods? Do you memorize their very faces, every indentation in their little bodies. All the little freckles and moles scattered on your daughter’s physique.

Did you know they cry for you at night?
when you are not here
the comforting that had to be done
the lies I stopped telling them.

I know you don't know me.
I know that now .
But did you ever know your children -
Did you ever even know your own blood?

If you stop and think:
Can you hear their distinct laughter?
Can you see their smile?
Can you see how they try to please you with jokes and laughter -
Can you see how they adore you?
How they have always loved you?
No matter what.
In a perfect way that no one else ever has.

Does it remind you of your own childhood -
your own parents -
Can you see yourself in them?

I look at your picture from 1974 -
and I see you
before you were broken -
before they ruined you.
I see our own children
I see your destruction
I see even your father's face.

No child should be raised like you were
But neither should ours.

And, I know that no one flossed your teeth
No one memorized your smile
No one heard your laughter and your cries -
so here we are
Again and again and again and again.

Your Grandpa.
Your Father.
Your Mother.
You.
But not my children
Not my Children.