I Wonder

I think of you, and I wonder;
When people ask, do you tell them we died? Or do you pretend we didn’t exist at all?
Can you still thumb through the pages of that old bloodstained bible?
Can you still read the story of Gideon? Or do you skip those verses?
Do you think of me every time you sit down at the table to pray?
Singing my name at church, seeing it plastered all over that holy book you hold so dear.
Surrounded by the life you’ve built on lies.
A daughter my age, a son his age.
How coincidental
Does your tongue betray you when you call for her?
Does it fold against the sides of your teeth, forming a G?
Or have you forgotten us entirely?
Do you still have our birth certificates, our baby photos, our birthday cards?
Or did you burn them to ash and dust?
Can you stand to look in the mirror, knowing that you’ll see me there, staring back at you?
I can’t.
I have dyed my hair, I wear glasses
I mourn the mother I lost
But I can’t change the way my hands look like yours.
And I can’t change the color of my eyes
And I try to keep you out of my mind
And far away from my life
And I pretend you died, too.
But I think of you, and I wonder.