Next time you see Linda,
tell her for me
I did not set out
to spoil the day.
Say it’s not about her;
it’s my crazy dad,
what’s wrong with the world
in general.
Tell her I didn’t mean what I said
about her wanting me
to be someone I’m not.
Tell Linda, it wasn’t about her:
it’s my mother’s green switch
on the backs of my thighs,
the welts and the cursing.
Tell Linda it wasn’t about her
tangling the kite string,
or ruining the picnic,
or not kissing me back after
I called her useless and dumb.
Go tell Linda
I don’t care anymore
if a kite flies or dives
nose first into the ground.
Tell her for me
next time you see her
I still hold her hands
on my chest
as I fall to sleep…