Details |
Kate Krehel Poem
We all want to smile.
Sometimes we get that cheery, excited rush inside that paints a grin on our face without realizing.
I wish.
I crawl down the stairs, daring myself to take another step,
When I finally get to the landing.
She turns to me, a smile plastered on her face.
But I know her better than anyone.
It was too big, too wide.
Too ingenuine.
Her laughter rings through the air,
But to my ears they sound like
Choked gasps.
She sat me down weeks ago,
Just after he entered the world.
She said,
You have to smile, okay? That’s the only way out.
The only way out.
Why?
I look at him, he doesn’t remember.
Oblivion is the sweetest medicine.
He visits once a week at most,
There are better things to do.
But every night he puts the blades so expertly twined, so delicately woven,
In between his yellowing teeth
And with the smoke that slowly fades so do the memories.
We, though, value sobriety.
So I look at him, and I remember.
I remember until my stomach churns.
I steady myself from this internal screaming match as my limbs tense,
My fists clench.
I want to shout, I want it all to come out, the memories to spill like oozing welts.
“Hi.”
And I smile.
Copyright © Kate Krehel | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Kate Krehel Poem
We all want to smile.
Sometimes we get that cheery, excited rush inside that paints a grin on our face without realizing.
I wish.
I crawl down the stairs, daring myself to take another step,
When I finally get to the landing.
She turns to me, a smile plastered on her face.
But I know her better than anyone.
It was too big, too wide.
Too ingenuine.
Her laughter rings through the air,
But to my ears they sound like
Choked gasps.
She sat me down weeks ago,
Just after he entered the world.
She said,
You have to smile, okay? That’s the only way out.
The only way out.
Why?
I look at him, he doesn’t remember.
Oblivion is the sweetest medicine.
He visits once a week at most,
There are better things to do.
But every night he puts the blades so expertly twined, so delicately woven,
In between his yellowing teeth
And with the smoke that slowly fades so do the memories.
We, though, value sobriety.
So I look at him, and I remember.
I remember until my stomach churns.
I steady myself from this internal screaming match as my limbs tense,
My fists clench.
I want to shout, I want it all to come out, the memories to spill like oozing welts.
“Hi.”
And I smile.
Copyright © Kate Krehel | Year Posted 2021
|