The native language of onions #Poem by Abigail George

 

You speak
You utter the words
You stand in the doorway, hovering
Am I speaking to a black hole?
In my head I say the words
that I am not brave enough to speak aloud
Your addiction is like a furnace
It is fire, it is volcano lover, it threatens my sensibility
I no longer wish to speak to you
Why?
Because you have no self-respect
When I try to talk to you
you blow smoke in my face
When I ask you, don't you want to talk to someone
a psychologist, an ex-addict, a priest
About what!
You shout
You holler
Your problems, I answer to your silence
At night, I ask your shadow
What is your song?
Sometimes, I look at your children
and see your legacy burning in their eyes.