They make dough out of their chaos. They knead it, sing songs
to it, press on it with the tip of their fingers and whisper
comforting thoughts to it every day at lunchtime.
My parents are waiting for a child to emerge from
this dough, so they have a new love to play with and
distract themselves with.
They fight and lay their wounds on the table, presenting their case
to each other like in a court of law. A paragraph spoken by Mom
of when she cried after Dad told her she was stupid and useless
was presented in great, romantic detail. He disagrees.
Like magical thinking, Dad’s mind does not exist per se. It is imagined
by the people around him, his son and daughter, the mailman
who’s too kind to him and asks him about his arthritis or the bad
dream he had last night. They were caused by circumstances
beyond his control.
Then Dad reaches across the table and tears Mom’s paragraph to shreds.
He tells her to fuck off in a calm, comforting voice.
She doesn’t leave and pushes the table against the wall
creating more chaos but for Mom, chaos is like second nature.
Is that a comma escaping my paragraph of pain? Mom asks,
raising her voice but Dad says nothing. He defends himself
by walking away.
You will give me back that comma! That is all I have left. You took
my breath from me and the breaths I had before I met you,
she yells at him.
Give me back my comma.
I need a break.
I need what is left of me.
Marlena Eva is a writer from Romania. Her poetry has been featured in Avatar Review, Rock and Sling, Vraeyda Media and Red Paint Hill. She is currently working on her first manuscript. Find her on Twitter @MarlenaEeva, and on Medium.