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a simple question
by Angela Thomastwo weeks before she died, we were driving in the car,
her hands twitching on the side of the door, tapping
to keep moving, her leg thudding softly, a bruise
rising closer to the surface with each hit. my mother turns
to look at me and asks, 'is there anything you want
to tell me? any secrets you think i should know?'
a thousand thoughts raced through my head.
my hand buried in a married man's chest, nights
spent in confusion, drunken stupors, police sirens
behind my car before i'm arrested, my first love
sneaking in the window to leave flowers in my bed
while i slept, kissing girls, loving women, dates
holding hands, and bated breath. there would be
time for all of this, i thought. 'nothing comes to mind.' 09/14/2010 Posted on 09/14/2010
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas
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