Friday, September 7, 2018

Lock jaw


Her too young jaw locks 
And she becomes her father
In this tic, to clench and wrestle
Her heavy breathing seems
Reminiscent of the little girl 
Not letting go
Of her bottle
For one second
Chance to make it without…

She gags at the mention
Of breakfast
Quite suddenly,
She says she is repulsed
And it may be
Because it reminds her
Of those café's and
Scattered mornings 
Here and there 
With her distant father.
He makes her stomach churn 
She says, she thinks she never needs
Breakfast again

It wasn't me, it wasn't 
Him, it was the way it started
To get tough
To hold on
To promises 
That are hard to swallow.

She learned about nourishment,
and its ultimate
End.
Nurture does not provide enough
For closed lips. Empty rooms, 
Empty calories, empty pockets 
Never kept us alive.
She is learning that it is more 
Fruitful to say, than for 
Him to hear.
Standing here and listening
Through the cracks,
I see narrow bands of light seeping out.

Forgiveness will be the only key
That opens her too young lockjaw
Allowing the Light its fitting
Liberty. 



Painting by Albert Edelfelt, 'At the door' 1901 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

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