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would lose interest
in me long before
asking that question.
Chunks of truth thump
round in my brain like rocks
in a tumbler: They were
too young, clueless,
selfish. Hell-bent
to party, to fight,
to find trouble. Mired
heart-deep in love,
in pain, in addiction.
But I don’t want to talk
about the monster, don’t
have the courage to say
“prison.” These words
define me as a freak.
And so, as Bryce turns
into the designated
student parking lot,
pulls into a space, a lie
(at least I think it’s a lie)
leaks from my mouth.
“My parents are dead.”
TEARS POOL IN MY EYES
Bryce mistakes embarrassment
for sadness. He reaches for me,
pulls me against the comforting
beat of his heart. Oh, baby,
he whispers. I’m so sorry.
