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Palms
May 27, 2022
Every night since we've moved into his new wife’s house
my dad lays on our couch
His stomach facing up
His palms at his sides
I’ve tried to stop myself from wondering if he was thinking about mother
The dents he left in her car, like craters
Determined to push them back into what they used to be
I would press my palm onto the opposite side of it
The same palms that he used to take in his own
Tell me that he used to be able to hold me in one hand
Now that I don’t fit
He lays there
His eyes open,
Glassy
Staring at the ceiling
Never at me
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