If Only I Could Tell You, If Only I Could Show You
by Sylvie Morgan Flatow
Under hot kitchen lights Dad says, --You'll lose her to drugs.
Hot in a hood - maybe it was the laundry room - but I still say
light, lightly
-- Do I have a responsibility to help her and Dad, smiling
when sad but knowing, says, -- No.
I say, -- C'mon.
-- You'll get older and have to watch their downfall
but it's a little bit beautiful, so watch carefully,
he said, squeezing oranges atop chicken
(yeah, it was the kitchen)
and I stood there with my backpack still on
and my head tilted like I wasn't sure.
-- But she still goes to work.
-- How much does coke cost?
-- But she still writes birthday cards.
-- Is that so hard.
-- She still laughs at my jokes.
-- You're funny.
When will the changes come, I think, but don't ask because I know they're already
happening and don't want Dad to know too much even though I know
he must want to.
