Coward

I twist-turned into the car like

It was mine, somehow, and started it up

I turned the radio volume higher feeling full of something like friendship, only simpler

Wet and cold and exhausted and feeling touched, by something. Feeling grateful.

I pulled into the driveway like

It was my last action before the martyrdom,

Full of serious, slow significance and a tidal wave of dread that knows it isn’t wanted.

Contemplating that open garage door as if it was the cave that held my monsters. If only.

I walked into the house like

It was the same action I took every day,

As if everything was normal, as if I wasn’t bothered, as if I wasn’t lying with every smile

And turned impulsively away from the voice in the living room, to keep one second more.

I engaged in conversation like

I didn’t think it was cynically meaningless,

Or far more terrifying than jumping off all the high places I’ve ever been, without a rope,

And nodded and asked the questions I was supposed to and pretended I wanted to be there.

I left to strip for a shower like

I wasn’t trying to wash off my feelings, too,

And I stood there in the hot water just trying to stay as blank as the white-flecked wall.

I let the water run down my legs and pool around my toes, already wrinkled from wet socks.

I brushed through my hair like

I wasn’t stalling in that one empty room,

I stood there in front of the mirror and didn’t have to try to keep my face straight,

Just fumbled uninterestedly with my bra, the catches sliding past, past, past.

I left through the front door like

I wasn’t sneaking away like a thief,

A criminal who steals the support of a family without offering their own solidity to be used.

I pulled the handle until it clicked, and didn’t look back as if I would have liked to lock it.


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