on this day.

my father killed two hearts with one voice.

li. MY FATHER KILLED TWO HEARTS WITH ONE VOICE.

it takes a lot of power

in all two hundred and six of these bones

to not scream

but swallow

don't go
don't go
don't go

as the only man in your 
life turns your back on you

back facing you
you want to bellow out
your insides setting fire
the words bubbling up in the back of your throat
like carbonated water
but you're scared;

the fear
it shakes at your fingertips
the same way your mother's did
when she stormed up the stairs.
a murder scene of pictures
torn to shreds
as her tears soak into the floor.

the horror
the panic that builds within you
as you open your mouth
but everything
every word that had ran through your mind
as the engine of his station wagon
started
had fell empty.

the image of him storming towards you with only fists
yelling
his voice so loud it could cause earthquakes
split the tree that holds your favorite swing
the one he had tied a knot around for you
picking the thickest branch so you wouldn't get hurt.
the roar he never held down
shaking the glass plates of the dinner mother could barely afford
watching the liquor in his cup
wave back and forth
counting down the time it took
for the motion to stop
wondering if like an hourglass
your father would realize that mother's tears haven't dried

and would plead how much he'll change.

( count how many times he's given another chance. )

spend all night
piecing mother's heart back together
even though it cut you open
in so many spots
and you swore
that if it wasn't for her,
the moment you saw his blood
the crimson that ran cold through your veins
that stretched so familiar to his,
you would've watched it pour out
make a river on the tiles
only pray that your mother isn't the one
who has to scrub the stain away.

watch her drained eyes
speak no emotion
as you raise the taped
glued
stapled
and stitched
heart up
as yours lays to pieces behind you.

sit down at the kitchen table
wait till she's ready to speak
listen as she doesn't cry
but mourns for being such
an awful mother.
convince her
tuck her head into your chest
whisper that father's words meant nothing
for he holds no heart behind the ribs that are still bruised
of his own father's ego.
tell her how everything is going to turn out
for the better
how alive you'll finally be.

when you pull away,
look at her hands
and see the permanent imprint
of what the diamond covered ring had left.

hold them in your own,
rub your thumb over the red rash,
look into her eyes and realize just how drained she is
before muttering,

"even in the darkest of times, you manage to find a flashlight.
i'll be the flashlight if that's what you truly need.

and i need you to know
that what father did,

it was never your fault."

and find yourself 
not holding back
but fearing your own voice
as you repeat over
and over again

i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry.