My daughter was killed in a car accident,
Her drunk husband crashing her into a rock,
And watching her die,
He is in prison now,
After my she died, my lover and I walked around the lake.
I stopped considering my daughter;
She left home at 13, angry and bitter,
Willing family into her life with her fist,
Her fist shaking upwards, a knife in the other hand.
Once she was on the streets,
We stopped locking up our wallets,
We fell apart, secreting secrets from our pores,
We fell to pieces,
All of us.
By the end she was an ex-crack whore with stumpy teeth and a crooked scar across her forehead,
She was in her casket.
Her hair was the same for years; a brown ponytail,
Her scar was coated with powder and cream,
And her teeth were covered with her lips, pressed together,
At the moment of her death I was fucking,
And coming like I’d never come before in waves undulating though my chest, my belly,
Through my cunt and sprouting from me like a river,
Like a tree,
Like something alive that could not stop,
Covering my lover and I with salty come.
We both are free now.
How did this happen?