INVOCATION

Invocation


Closet Child Support

She’s dead now but here she is anyway. She points
A scorning finger and he cringes. She says,
“You’re no good. You’re selfish and childish!” and he asks
Himself if $80 bucks a month is too much for food.
She says, “You’re not half the man your Father is!”
And he slashes his clothing budget in half. He knows
He’ll have to give her everything she demands.
Maybe, he thinks, if he can just give enough, just make
Himself small enough, she’ll be satisfied and leave him alone.
Maybe, if he can crush himself into a small enough space,
She won’t notice him, she won’t scorn him anymore.
Perhaps, if he can just turn himself into a living ball
Of pain, a mess of bleeding sores, an open wound with tiny
Lips that cry, “May I have more, please?” she’ll take pity on him
And relent, give in and give him what he wants—whatever
That is, whatever it is he thinks she wants him to want.
If he can just hurt enough to make her understand, maybe,
He thinks, he can give until there’s nothing left to give,
Give until she can‘t see him anymore, until he disappears,
Then she’ll leave him alone, then she’ll go away. Or, he thinks,
Maybe, if he cries loudly and long enough to get her
Sympathy, she’ll become an angel of mercy, she’ll come home
And let him out of the closet where she left him locked in.