I keep a picture ,

from the wedding I didn’t attend .

the distance in your facial expressions,

your arms do not touch

marked between your wedding vows ,

and a happy divorce settlement

framed in my mother’s bedroom closet.

August 16th-- she's been married twice on that day

but you push off your girlfriend as if her

8year old commitment to you was just a fling.

Hidden underneath my pillow are Mom and your faces

crusted , ripped and

faded through 20 years of a deserted marriage,

8 kids together, 3 kids apart,

4 affairs split evenly between the both of you

one argument each night

with nothing but photos

to prove you once loved each other

your arms do not touch

Summer , before freshman year

Mom made it clear, I was the mistake

That my life , belong pricked

inside of trash cans ,

aborted by religion ,

i'm still here ,

These pictures are the only evidence I have ,

from believing I was never meant to happen