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Driftwood

**poem first appeared in Free Verse Revolution magazine** 

OUR RELATIONSHIP WAS

drift·wood 

/ˈdrif(t)wo͝od/ 

noun 

pieces of wood which are floating on the sea or have been washed ashore.

1. We sat on the edge of both stone and wave.

When I was younger, you used to take me and my sister to ballet practice. You used to pick us up in that black pickup truck, we’d sit in the back seat and watch you make funny faces in the mirror. When you dropped us off, you gave us a slobbery kiss goodbye.

2. We sat there rotting, worms beneath our skin.

I don’t remember when it ended. But I remember the afters. The birthdays left unwished, the Christmases with a single plastic card that soon became only empty hands. Each holiday passing by and not a word from you we heard.

3. You are all but decomposed.

June twentieth twenty-twenty-one you invited us to a cookout. We talked about my future and where you’d like to live out the rest of yours. Sat in the shade of the trees I haven’t seen since I was a girl and pretended there wasn’t a lifetime missing between us.

4. You lead me onto the shore. We stared out at the water. Dad wished you a happy birthday, a wish that was long overdue. Everyone is grasping at straws, trying to make amends, right their wrongs. The hot air these days feels suffocating and time refuses to slow down for us.

Recommend0 Simily SnapsPublished in Coming of Age, Poetry

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