Blame—wants to die but cannot. Its
hair is untidy but it’s always here. My
mother blamed my father. I blamed my
father’s dementia. My father blamed
my mother’s lack of exercise. My
father is the story, not the storyteller.
I eventually blamed my father because
the story kept on trying to become the
storyteller. Blame has no face. I have
walked on its staircase around and
around, trying to slap its face but only
hitting my own cheeks. When some
people suffer, they want to tell everyone
about their suffering. When the brush
hits a knot, the child cries out loud,
makes a noise that is an expression of
pain but not the pain itself. I can’t feel
the child’s pain but some echo of her
pain, based on my imagination. Blame
is just an echo of pain, a veil across
the face of the one you blame. I blame
God. I want to complain to the boss of
God about God. What if the boss of
God is rain and the only way to speak
to rain is to open your mouth to the sky
and drown?
2020
Regular
Contemporary
2022
2023
Death & Loss
Faith & Hope
Family
Health & Illness
Metaphor
a comparison between two unrelated things through a shared characteristic
Personification
the attribution of human qualities to a non-human thing
Rhetorical Question
a question asked for effect, not necessarily to be answered