Echo Of Exodus

Mother,

I tell people you're dead

INSTEAD

of telling them the truth.

Because

the

truth

is embarrassing

and it makes me feel like

a soft-shell turtle,

vulnerable to hard hits

when people ask

why dad

is living all alone.

"75 year old widow" I reply.

I'm greeted

with soothing sighs

and the shaking of sad heads.

Sometimes a shoulder hug.

I haven't been pity-fucked yet,

but maybe dad has.

I grin at the thought

of him sitting blind at Red Lobster

netting snatch

and a basket of cheddar biscuits,

while I stay home

writing poetry

about how disgusted God is

over your decision

to give up.. the holy ghost.

Mother,

I hope He's merciful.

Neighbor Ed said

I need to forgive you, and he's right.

The hinge swings

hard in both directions,

and I will eventually learn

how to accept the echo

of your exodus.

But for now,

this poem is my mountain

for you to climb.