Tell All You Know

It was quiet when she entered the house, Abel had obviously gone to bed hours before, refusing to wait up for her another night. Tristan leaned over to remove her shoes before trekking through the dark living room to the kitchen for a late night snack. She’d just pulled the prepared plate from the microwave when her cell phone rang. Looking down at it she saw her mother’s number and dreaded what would come next.

“Hi, Mommy” she said knowing this response would thoroughly piss her mother off.

“Tristan, I don’t approve of such greetings and you know that I expect better of you.”

She silently counted to ten before attempting to provide the response that Sara Cunningham was waiting for. Her mother had a reason for calling, the sooner she exposed it the quicker the call could end.

“Hello, Mother. How are you?” Tristan asked in the same bored, cultivated tone in which the phrase was taught to her.

“Tristan, where is your father. He doesn’t make a move without telling his precious princess and its imperative that I speak with him.”

“Uh, I’m not sure…” I began

“Tristan Abernathy Cunningham-Ward don’t you dare lie to your mother! I said that I need to speak to your father and that means you tell me where he is.” When Sara got in this state it was nearly impossible to reason with her, or deal with her. Not like she’s all that easy to deal with anyway. The dilemma this time was how Tristan was going to tell her mother that she’d just dropped her father off at Teterboro Airport and he was flying home to the Bahamas, to rest and to be away while Sara is served with divorce papers. After all, her mother was the one who taught her that it’s not necessary to tell all that you know.

Never Easy

Like cocoa on a cold day

And bubbles for a bath

childhood should be

 sweet and comforting

Her story is neither

she’s been beaten by life

Daddy’s touches were never fatherly

Mommy’s words hit harder than an Ali uppercut

They call her legs cause she is a legacy

the same legs that easily slide apart for men

 used to traverse many a street while she searched for food

tummy bloated with her parent’s lack of care

her edges have been honed sharp by the type of parenting never talked about

They call her legs cause they’re toned like Flo Jo’s

and always shown off by shorts or tiny skirts

she never ran track but she’s always running

from her parents, her men, and her nightmares

she used to get teased at school by kids who called her easy

how could they know that her life has been anything but easy