elise

The phone rang.
Once.
I listened through the vents
As my father picked it up in
The bathroom in
The room he shared
With my mother.
His voice so soft, barely
Above a whisper.
So hushed, my small ear
Had to strain to listen.
He was talking to a woman.
but hes a good father.
The woman isnt my mother.
but hes a good father.
A bad husband,
but hes a good father
my mother repeated that
so often
it sounded mechanical.
My small mouth rounded in an O
Of shock, then cringed to
a thin line
Of anger
Tears of disbelief welling up
but hes a good father.
In my 21st year, I believe,
This is true
But you left us a legacy
Of deceit to follow, and lies
And quiet your pretty little heads
As a husband, that
It overshadows all that
Youve done well
As a father.
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Elise10.02