I Cried Like a Baby

By Jordan Godby

"Broken man. Gaunt and spindly.

I remember 5 years ago

When your mother was dying.

You kept her high and she left you everything.

She looked then the way you did the last time I saw you.

Sunken cheeks and cavernous eye sockets,

Loose skin draped over a skeleton frame.

Every threat you’ve ever made against anyone,

Laying empty in a pool of pity.

I didn’t think I would cry at your funeral,

I already knew it was coming when my dad told me you had passed.

The way you looked at our Last Supper,

Your diagnosis,

Your defeated congeniality,

It was a wrap and I didn’t think I could have cared less.

I hated you.

You were a greedy old man.

You would lie to and cheat your own family.

And I always wanted to ask you “why?”

I can’t help but remember my mother’s stories about growing up with grandpa.

How he would get drunk and beat on everyone in the house.

How he would threaten to kill grandma.

How you guys got away, but things never really stopped.

How grandma’s ex broke in and raped her with everyone in the house

And you, 10 years old, armed with a belt

Thought you could get him to stop,

But grandma just yelled

“Get out!”

So you did.

When he left and grandma came out, she found you crying and asked straight-faced,

“What are you crying about? I’m the one that just got raped.”

And that’s just how things were.

And you kids all ended up with substance abuse problems

Trying to deal with pain that I can’t comprehend.

And I can’t help but remember the last words you ever spoke to me.

I filled my dish with mashed potatoes and corn

And you asked why I wasn’t eating any ribs.

“He’s a vegetarian now.” I heard my father say.

And you asked me why

And I paused a little too long

So you said,

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to explain yourself to me, buddy.”"