Cul-de-sac
You’re a grown woman now
with prison time for Something-To-Make-You-Feel-Better
and serious problems you air
like prayer flags adorning your entrance;
it is the first thing anyone sees when greeting you;
like you hope admitting them will
convince the wind that it’s fall and time for harvest,
carry them from your door, up the Rims and away from town,
but I knew you before your sex and gender did,
when you were a young boy, a good friend
of my brother
who told me about your dad hitting you.
And when I went to your house, the only time I went to your house,
I saw it myself
and reason now, that if I was there for two hours of
youthful pretend and saw him strike your back and put his hand
on your shoulder while you dripped quiet tears onto the ground,
declaring to your company that: I may hit my son but I love him,
there would have been many more times
where no guest was around
for him to perform to while you hid your face in shame
Your faded house out of sight,
just like any in the row
on your street with a dead end sign
the backyard’s stretch and the chain link fence
these dead ends just keep going and going