Divorce

These twenty years were more than jumbled noise
Composed of her clichés and sentiments.
My words would hurt her in a quiet voice.

I tried to imitate my father’s poise
While lawyers showed him where his marriage went.
These twenty years were more than jumbled noise.

My mother knew that apathy destroys
A home’s foundations, torn without consent.
My words would hurt her in a quiet voice.

She found me on my room’s floor reading Joyce
And pled her case for Christmases misspent.
These twenty years were more than jumbled noise.

My mother pressured me to make a choice:
Choose her or patricide, to an extent.
My words would hurt her in a quiet voice.

I packed my suitcases for Illinois
And left my mom a kiss she would resent.
These twenty years were more than jumbled noise,
My words would hurt her in a quiet voice.