DVAM Code-Purple: Day Thirteen

Twenty one
was my golden birthday.

I drove us to a cabin
deep in the Smoky Mountains
where we lived on my dime for a week.

I bought my birthday dinner.
You yelled at me in public a lot
over this credit card ordeal and how
my worries made me look weak and worthless.

Unlike you, I knew
how to manage a revolving balance.

For my present,
you bought me a pint of Jim Beam.
For yourself, a pint of Maker’s Mark, twice the price.

I hewed the broken zipper
on our tent, and when you unzipped
the wrong side, you called me a fucking liar,
shook your fists, and swore that I did it to you on purpose.

Do you even
remember these things?

It was always my fault,
until I stood on solid proof otherwise,
but then you were suddenly and brutally victimized by the truth.

Why I couldn’t
leave you there, in the worst
of the Smokies, in the worst of hours,
among a revolving balance of mist and ghosts?

I was freshly naive.  I was twenty one.

©2012 Jessica Stephenson All Rights Reserved

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About inpotentia

Hold Fast.
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