DIVORCE

DIVORCE
Age 4, Sharon, Connecticut, 1948
-- This is one poem, in an autobiographical series of poems, that I posted here at WriteSpike. Go to my stories section for others. They are in chronological order. --

the day my father left
was the beginning of my memory

before that only faint pictures
Santa Fe
a rattle snake they had to kill

after that
the world sharply etched
my brain now jelled
so even with a child's mind
I had clear snapshots:

Daddy in a heavy overcoat
carrying plaid bags to our black car

coming back into the house

Mommy at the doorway

them yelling

me running, pulling on his hem
my eyes blurred

the hard thump
as he dropped the bags
hugging me
promising to come back

then me standing on the sidewalk
the old DeSoto
starting up
the smell of exhaust
leaving me
its rough gears
as it climbed the road
in late afternoon
in yellow light
smaller
over the top of the hill
gone

I felt a knife in my stomach
and a taste like metal
on my tongue

it was almost like the pain of birth