Poetry
Andy Quezada For Unsplash+
The Daughter
The night—quiet but full of hushed bickering—
returned. I put on headphones, but in vain.
The moon was bright yet restlessly flickering.
Looking at the photos on the wall—once sweet—
I could feel the lies and yelling behind the smiles.
Thatnonstopyelling proved my family was incomplete.
“You, cheater!” “You, bitch.” How would I react?
One pointing, one waving a knife, one cupping her face.
Five years—divorce had been an option, never a fact.
I was used to solitude—Mom at work, Dad somewhere.
Grandma was the only one I trusted and turned to.
“My precious Jennie, don’t cry. I know. There, there.”
All of a sudden, they me told their decision. Relief?
Abandoned? Despondent? Redundant? Imprudent?
Feelings I struggled to pinpoint, even in brief.
Why hadn’t they talked to me? Unnecessary?
Unhappy as I was, I couldn’t heave my heart
into my mouth. I love you. Back to solitary.
Then my grandma came to shower me with love,
a love I lacked and needed, a love they never gave.
Something I’d longed for from those above.
Breathless, colourless, spiritless—less and less—
Grandma coughed, coughed, and then was silent.
Was something wrong with her? May God bless.
Her hand was light as dandelion, cold as marble,
her skin sank down to trace the fragile bones,
her mouth moved s l o w l y—tried to mumble.
The branches outside the window started to fall,
under the cruel wind and incessant rain.
Her condition was unnoticed on a previous call.
She couldn’t catch her breath, felt pain, and fell.
We three in the ambulance—me, Mom, and Grandma—
I watched them, eyes blurred with tears, wishing her well.
The Mother
Two pens, a signed paper untangled us.
Our—no, my—Jennie blamed me, not you;
a door slammed ; she refused to discuss.
With little left behind in our house,
you couldn’t have left any faster, while
talking merrily to your future spouse.
John, why? Why did you hate me that much?
You moved for happiness, left us loneliness.
Anyway, our relations became such and such.
Summer’s l e a v e s unsewn by autumn’s rain,
glistening sky invaded by crowding clouds—
the efforts of spring and summer were in vain.
Crouching against Jennie’s door—deflated—
I held our picture, tears on the past, past,
Against my chest. The pain was not abated.
We used to talk about everything, everything,
but that was years ago, many years ago.
Now I didn’t know anything about her, not a thing.
Notifications flickered on the phone in the dark,
tears streaked my face, eyes fixed on the ceiling—
all was gagged; even the dog refused to bark.
John had felt unloved, Jennie betrayed.
“To be honest, what’s wrong with having a career?
Mom, how did you do it? I am so afraid.”
“Thanks, Mom. Of course, you are welcome.”
My mom came to offer solace, but I’m soulless.
Crying, denying, lying—what had I become?
Yesterday, today, and… Was tomorrow a thing?
Such an idiot. My life was full of sound and fury.
What did I gain by all the toil? Nothing.
A gentle knock on my door—my mom was here.
The overcast vanished as the sun permeated;
Jennie already answered the door. “Oh my dear.”
The Grandma
Doctor unlocked the darkness I refused to light—
invisible but indelible, inexplicable but intelligible.
A few papers proclaimed a razor-thin battle to fight.
Blood splattered on the sink—I was used to it.
My worries weren’t about it, but Pei-jen and Jennie.
They were vulnerable since Pei-jen and John split.
Their—our—family had been broken apart.
Pei-jen had been repeating my mistake—my mistake;
all these years, she should’ve listened to Jennie’s heart.
Pei-jen took us on a trip I wouldn’t forget;
they seemed able to laugh, and so did I.
That was the expectation this moment had met.
Coughing, covering my mouth, crouching, crying,
I couldn’t stop it. They were scared, screaming.
They noticed something that I had been denying.
“Mom, are you okay? Do you need to rest?”
“I’m fine. I’m just tired of travelling around.”
I couldn’t help but keep rubbing my chest.
“I’m sorry that I’m ruining everything.”
“Have you been to a doctor, Mother?”
“Yes,” I said, explaining it was nothing.
The sky—bang—the ground, then nothing.
I heard them crying, saw them begging, hugging.
A spotlight focused on me. They knew everything.
Was I going to die, or sleep? To sleep and to dream—
where we all gathered together in tears, no more,
no more pain, and from afar I saw a beam.
“I want you to take care of each other;
don’t weep. Don’t mourn. Pei-jen, don’t be me.
Spend more time with your daughter.”
“Jennie, be good. I know your mom well;
You do too. She loves you, but feels bad too.”
Then darkness permeated; they shrank. F a r e w e l l.