Your grandmother is sitting at the table yelling at your father about her car. You didn't come back until this morning she says with no gas in it. How am I supposed to get to the doctor? Your father curses, stomps his feet while throwing a phone in her direction before bolting up the stairs. You look back at your grandmother who is now sobbing. You want to ask, was he always like this? You kneel beside her & ask why she lets him stay with her, she doesn't answer. You lean in so that your lower lip is nearly touching her earlobe & ask the harder question which is, do you do so much for me because he doesn't? When she whispers yes you are not surprised but you cry anyway incensed that your grandmother didn't do something before it got this bad & ashamed that he is your father.
About the Author:
Porsha Allen received her MFA from Queens University of Charlotte. Her work has appeared and is forthcoming in Scene & Heard Journal, Apricity Press, Obsidian and Scalawag Magazine. Porsha was selected as a semi-finalist for the Naugatuck River Review’s 12th Annual Narrative Poetry Contest.