say you love me by molly peacock
what happend earlier im not sure off
of course he was drunk, but often he was
his face hung like meat hooked from above
me-i was pinned to the chair because
he'd hunkered over me with arms like jaws
pried open by the chair arms. "do you love
me" he began to sob. "say you love me!"
i held out, i was fifteen.
what had happened. had my mother-had she
said or done something. had he just been
drinking too long after work? "he'll get mean,"
my sister hissed, "just tell him." i brought my knee
up to kick him, but was too scared. nothing
could have gotten the words out of me then. rage
shut me up, yet "do you!" was beginning
to peel, as of live layers of skin, age
from age from age from him until he gazed
through hysteria as a wet baby thing
repeating, "do you love me? say you do,"
in baby chokes, only loud, for they came
from a man. there wouldnt be a rescue
anything, not escape into my own
refusal, i wont i wont, not fantasize
a kind, rich father, not fill the narrowed zone,
empty except for confusion until the size
of m fear ballooned as i saw his eyes,
blurred, taurean-my sister screamed-unknown,
unknown to me, a voice rose and leveled
off, "i love you," i said. "say i love you,
father!" "i love you father," i whispered, leveled
by defeat into cardboard image, untrue,
unbending. i was suprised i could move
as i did to get up, but he stayed, burled
onto the chair-my monstrous fear-she screamed,
my sister, "dad, the phone! its yours to answer,"
the phone wasnt ringing yet he seemed
to moved toward, i ran. he had us fit-
"its not ringing!"-but i was at the edge of it
as he collapsed into the chair and blamed
both of us for distance. no, the phone
was not ringing. there was no world out there,
so there we remained, completely alone.
of course he was drunk, but often he was
his face hung like meat hooked from above
me-i was pinned to the chair because
he'd hunkered over me with arms like jaws
pried open by the chair arms. "do you love
me" he began to sob. "say you love me!"
i held out, i was fifteen.
what had happened. had my mother-had she
said or done something. had he just been
drinking too long after work? "he'll get mean,"
my sister hissed, "just tell him." i brought my knee
up to kick him, but was too scared. nothing
could have gotten the words out of me then. rage
shut me up, yet "do you!" was beginning
to peel, as of live layers of skin, age
from age from age from him until he gazed
through hysteria as a wet baby thing
repeating, "do you love me? say you do,"
in baby chokes, only loud, for they came
from a man. there wouldnt be a rescue
anything, not escape into my own
refusal, i wont i wont, not fantasize
a kind, rich father, not fill the narrowed zone,
empty except for confusion until the size
of m fear ballooned as i saw his eyes,
blurred, taurean-my sister screamed-unknown,
unknown to me, a voice rose and leveled
off, "i love you," i said. "say i love you,
father!" "i love you father," i whispered, leveled
by defeat into cardboard image, untrue,
unbending. i was suprised i could move
as i did to get up, but he stayed, burled
onto the chair-my monstrous fear-she screamed,
my sister, "dad, the phone! its yours to answer,"
the phone wasnt ringing yet he seemed
to moved toward, i ran. he had us fit-
"its not ringing!"-but i was at the edge of it
as he collapsed into the chair and blamed
both of us for distance. no, the phone
was not ringing. there was no world out there,
so there we remained, completely alone.