Friday, September 02, 2005

Suicide Six

Today marks the sixth anniversary of my father's suicide. Unlike the last couple years when I got through this period with only expected sadness, this year I was caught totally off gaurd by an under current of overwhelming grief. For the last several days I felt as though I was reliving every moment of the days leading up to September 2, 1999 and was painfully powerless to do anything about it. Again. I'm a reasonably strong woman, but it's been a fragile couple of days.

Angst over feeling helpless to do anything about all the displaced people suffering with loss in the resulting chaos of Hurricane Katrina added to my state of mind. Seeing all those people struggling in unspeakable conditions added to my sense of powerlessness.

This was not a stellar week -



The Antagonist’s Daughters

One Thursday night
he stands up and shatters himself
into a thousand pieces.

Early the next morning
the phone starts screaming

Mother first
demanding an explanation
as if I keep an atlas of his brain tucked in my bra.

I just keep on sweeping him up
and tell her. “I don’t know. But I’m sure it will all work out.”
These lies never bother me; I tell them all the time.

I hear the reprimanding anthem of my upbringing
squeeze through her teeth:
You’re just like him, just like your father.
Again I am responsible for the mistake she once made
loving such a dangerous man. She doesn’t say it
but she suspects somewhere I’ve hidden the blueprints
For all their failed inventions.

Later comes the call
from his name sake and arch enemy.
Wow. yeah. Sad. yeah. Gun? yeah. Bye. yeah.
Another call from a phone booth, I assume,
without enough change. I hang up too.

By the time baby-sister arrives
I’m putting away the mop and pail,
rummaging to make room in the broom closet for
The rumors and legends that
we’ll mail out with our holiday cards
to the cousins next Christmas

Without fanfare she drops an unopened jar of peanut butter
onto the kitchen table, alongside the permission to eat it
entirely, if we choose,
with our fingers.

3 Comments:

At 8:41 AM, Blogger afp763389 said...

... :/

 
At 4:26 PM, Blogger Renmeleon said...

I won't say that I understand what you are going through. I lost my father suddenly; not to suicide, possibly to murder, I'll never know. Maybe I'm not meant to.

What I can say, though, is this ...

Be proud of who you are now. Everything we experience, good and bad, forces us to adapt, grow, learn and ...become. Though I only know you as Red Ant, I am proud of what I see from you. The intelligence, the caring, the artitic expression and that you dont let fear stop you.

Thank you for posting this glimpse inside of you, you write beautifully and I hope that it helped you in even some small way to put it out into the world.

Ria, aka "Renmeleon"
Dragonfly of Odonatia

 
At 7:31 AM, Blogger karthini said...

Now that is a real poem.

 

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