linger long

a dream narrative poem Dindga McCannon, Pat is Pregnant, 1977. Courtesy of Fridman Gallery you still linger…hard to forget you,but I want to.hard to move on,but I had to.you are the dry rotof towels, a smell thatremains regardless of thenumber of timeswe wash and bleach them.constant without contact,abuse without words,the fact of life thatdies to teach one morelesson while the heartis already breaking.I had a dream that youroldest daughter found me,and hugged my neckso tight I lost my voice.I didn’t know what to sayor how to react…why was she here?I stood befuddled, amazedby how much she favored you,yet you always had yourmark on your firstborn.she walked, talked, andflashed her hands around theair like you, too.it was good but itwasn’t.because the questions came…questions to which Ihad no answers, and couldonly say, “It was time forme to leave. I knew ofno other way to keepmyself from breaking.”to a 20-year-old, thisseems like abandonmentand neglect, but it wasn’t,it isn’t.she…