Taboo (Poetry)

Nobody wants to talk about my baby.
Nobody will mention her by name.
They skirt around the subject — looking awkward.
Avoidance is the object of the game.

Oh, God forbid that anyone’s embarrassed!
Far better such small skeletons are hid.
So let’s pretend there’s nothing in the cupboard —
and never mention what she said or did.

Let’s put away those memories and lock them —
I’ll seal my lips so they may never part
and let frustration pour its raging torrent —
release the dammed-up anguish in my heart.

She is my flesh — I feel that nerve connection —
her name an echo always in my throat
and yet they shuffle words — ignore the issue
as though to speak of her would make them choke.

They are the fools — their masks are tight and wooden —
a family too rigid to admit
Love’s buried deep inside a tomb of silence
and each of them responsible for it.