ronniek

haiku for my mother:

growing up with you
i learned the smell of whiskey
and dinnerless nights.

when your belt cut through
my back i knew the bottle
had drowned your mercy.

crown and diet coke
for you, a six-pack for him;
family dinner.

you told me to lock
the door, afraid he'd hit me;
just make him leave.

you bad-mouth my dad,
but he never blacked my eye
like your husband does.

"your dad did drugs," you
tell me while you pour a drink;
but i'm still hungry.