Sex With My Father

           Animal sounds exploded

from my parents’ room late at night.

From the bottom bunk, I could

hear my sister’s breathing, quiet

and steady as my own.

I covered my head with a pillow

and waited for it to be over, for the sounds

to stop. He’s going to crush her,

I thought. I waited to hear my mom’s voice

or her footstep, light, in the hallway.

She never came.

My father walked heavy

to the bathroom, running water, coughing.

No mom. She was still

alive in the morning, but tired. The circles

had purpled under her eyes.

 

 

           Today I can see her then,

eyes turned to the ceiling, searching

for some pattern, waiting for the light

to come. She is holding her breath,

being forced against the sheet,

mattress springs in her back.

Where was it before her?

Where is he taking her and when

will he get there?

Her face has turned

toward morning drifting through

the window. Maybe she is waiting for me

to save her, to meet her in the bathroom

to nurse her wounds.

I would lick her clean if I could I would

carry her in my mouth and deliver her

to my bed to hide. I would hold her

and kiss her and let her sleep in peace.

 

 

-- April Salzano