Formative years were more destruct than construct; contradictions riddled the foundation of our familial structure: one man tyrannized five females while in the news, women
Found an old diary – days when I prayed to the angels, painted myself white, believed in a God that cared about personal forever after
Reminds me of home – Dad’s drinking, dressing up, keeping up appearances; a woman without a voice, public persona all important: must disguise private hell.
At the age of four, I moved with my family into a new house that my father had built, on the outskirts of town. The
Death has visited us, and subsequently, visitations, and a funeral. Ours was a loss long anticipated, suffering relieved by passing on. Dutifully, I planned to
Remember when we were lovers, and would stay all out night – me full of bravado, you coaxing one more drink? I’d awaken the next