Down In My Sweet Blood (Poem)

They say it is inevitable that we become our parents. That we

are houses haunted by our childhoods.

I am going to call the biggest alley cat in the neighborhood one of my closest confidantes. And I'll name him something fanciful, like Bombadil.

And we will talk often,

but always agree that a cat with stripes is a paw worth shaking.

And I will plant jasmine in my garden,

and there will be daisies,

those dancing ladies, too.

And I will paint my front door,

that third eye,

the brightest shade of haint blue,

and chat with the butterflies,

or neighbors,

about the fragrance of the lilac bushes.

And I will welcome all the lightening bugs to my twilight soirees,

and I will let the wee folk,

and even the neighbors,

know they are always welcome for a cuppa tea,

with offerings of Lady Grey and Darjeeling

in delicate blue willow china,

with sweets in rainbow shades.

Because, I will not have

this voice

from a mother and father.

So heavy,

like their hands

that could not hold

anything for very long.

Because they were weighted under the excuses,

the ego, the addictions.

Yet somehow empty,

and never tools

to hold

back the surge of

storm water

that always rained

down.

No,

I will disguise

this tempest.

This fierce storm

that has been passed

down,

a genetic cannonade;

winds pulling everything

down,

and apart,

a shrieking

and cracking

down,

beneath, the melody

of my heart,

Where the symphony

I create is

being laid

down.

No,

I will speak

sweet

poetry, like mercy.

Love, luscious golden,

will fill the

sweet

honeycomb walls

of my flesh.

My words

will linger

sweet

when I spin sugar

from my tongue to yours.

My sentences curving,

kindly, at their

end, like a

sweet

loving embrace.

And you will never

know that I am

more moonshine

than peach

sweet.

I will

speak my poems

into the storm

I have become.

Because if I must somehow

speak in the voice

of my parents

then, I will play

my melody,

over the hurricane,

of them.

That cracked wind,

bellowing

down

in my

sweet

blood,

like a wink from

the devil,

to remind me

that this

house

is

haunted.