true and deep

I.

silly of me to think you weren't listening

and here I am,

practically underground

in my excavating

I asked you for true and deep healing

when what I really wanted was

immediate.

I write to grieve my own warfare:

if my head was a globe in a middle school geography classroom,

then I am the child who watches it spin

I attempt to stop it

and jam my finger under its metal spine.

I shriek in pain

and do it again the next day.

no, the globe hasn't stopped spinning

and my mind's eye is fraught with the catalyst.

II.

world history 101

and I am the teacher

I say the words powder keg like I think they will understand

powder keg, powder keg, powder keg.

the war had nothing to do with Franz Ferdinand,

but we remember him anyway.

III.

yes, there have been teddy bears

but I am not allowed to keep them.

careful!

what you say has a funny way of coming true.

not allowed,

not for me,

not enough.

there are stuffed animals available during nap time

but I am aching to dig in the dirt,

to plant petunias,

to stomp on the soil.

I won't lay still

and I must prove to everyone

that I will never be like the classroom full of girls

who are each rewarded with the teddies

that they have allowed themselves to want.

petulantly I have refused mine,

a brown-eyed bear who I so adore,

for I have already anticipated the wound.

it is premeditated murder

as I take a shotgun to my own desire.

any last words?

I will not allow myself to want this.

you must be careful

with how you choose to protect yourself.

IV.

you and I are lab partners in fourth period

the class is biology,

and we are bored.

we have cut an earthworm open

directly down the center:

we need to know what is inside.

pushpin by pushpin

we unravel the powerless paperthin body,

the formaldehyde threatening to suffocate us

as we leer at his guts.

in the upper right hand corner of the room

the bell rings like a fire drill

and you sigh in relief,

for it is time for lunch.

but I wake in a cold sweat,

for I am the earthworm.

V.

it wasn't safe to ask for what I wanted

when I was growing up.

you knew that when my heart broke so violently

that I couldn't get off of the floor,

but I assumed I had paid for all of that

with my graduation cap.

there wasn't room for failure

in a family full of work to do,

and you knew that when the grief hit so thickly

that I couldn't even breathe--

but I thought I had buried that

under all the accolades and awards.

I vowed that no one could ever love me

because I was your soldier

and you wanted all my time and devotion.

yes, you knew that when the biggest dream I'd ever had

came crashing down at my feet,

proving me right once again:

I was meant to be alone.

I am hesitant to let you lead me

and I don't want to hold your hand,

because fathers always fail.

right?

I am a good worker,

I have worked all my life.

I know you want my labor,

so I will show you what I am worth.

I don't struggle. I get things done. I am smart and capable and effective.

let me prove it to you.

let me prove that I can erase my heartbreak

let me prove that I am stronger than the disrespect

let me prove that I will never get hurt again.

I can do it.

healing.

I'll absorb the hate like it was meant for me all along,

see?

it was never anyone's fault but mine.

fathers never heal. they don't listen,

and they certainly don't let me have what I want.

so I can handle it myself.

right?

VI.

you show me I grieve much more

than my 23 year old broken heart.

I said true and deep,

so you set off the prime meridian

like it was covered in landmines,

yes,

I grieve childhood and family and labor and loss

and summer and disillusionment and dreams must die

and shame and vows and other people's plans

and delight and anger and withholding

and always, always

stop it now. there's work to do.

VII.

it was silly of me to think you weren't listening

so here I am

picking the pieces of me off of the concrete

like squished tomato innards

after a downtown summer concert.

I might not use the word neglect

but I would use the word dysfunctional--

sometimes being smashed flat is all you know.

this has nothing to do with blame, if my mother is listening.

it is about empathy

if I can stomach betrayal then I can eat that, too.

VIII.

we study the solar system.

what is on the horizon?

to my knowledge none of us grew up to be astronomers.

if the depth of the valley

prophesies the height of the peak,

one day you will look up

and I will be the sun.

there is one caveat:

my ascent necessitates

learning how to put down my own mending.

I have heard you say words like

healing and compassionate and tender

but I am afraid to let you do the sewing,

yes,

I have not learned to trust

that what you promise is real.

are you sure that I don't have to do it myself?

I suppose this is why you acquiesced

when I asked for

true and deep.