Two Poems

by Mona Mehas

First Time Camping

I was thirteen, spending summer

in Ohio with my sister

met neighbor girl on playground swing

my eyes opened first time camping.

Her dad drove a station wagon

with sides of brown that looked wooden

excited for weekend planning

my eyes opened first time camping.

Towed a pop-up for us to sleep

station wagon chugged up hills, steep

my friend and I in back, singing

my eyes opened first time camping.

In our seats, we faced the trailer

behind us sat her two brothers

baby on mom’s lap was crying

my eyes opened first time camping.

We played pretend on the long ride

one began, another replied

I used my best understanding

my eyes opened first time camping.

‘Pretend we go into a bar.’

Nothing but silence in the car

‘Tavern,’ I said, ‘Where there’s drinking.’

My eyes opened first time camping.

Bar and tavern were words not known

‘Find another game.’ Her dad’s tone

made me shrink inside, heart clamping

my eyes opened first time camping.

I never guessed my life was so

different, that was quite the blow

her dad gave me my crash-landing

my eyes opened first time camping.

That day forward, I knew the truth

how my upbringing was uncouth

my mom’s habits led to branding

my eyes opened first time camping.

Parentified

Learned a new word at my age, sixty-five

always felt it, always knew, but a word?

Cared for me, cared for her, signed name on checks

Nomad lives hers, and mine, she never heard

my cries when touched, laughing, she said I lied

I was four, shared the bed, I heard their sex

she stayed drunk, my body sick, did not thrive

he left, more came, molest, memories hide

‘til age ten. Why tell? Got tough, hid the truth

Learned a new word at my age, sixty-five.

I chose to fight - my sanity, defend

Kids bullied me, I hurt them, ‘twas my drive

I grew bolder with him there, would it end?

The bullies stopped, my reputation grew

Nomads roam, but each return, I still knew

he was there for years; nothing changed but youth.

Rarely fought, kids all knew I was badass,

at fourteen years, for him I was too dull

Learned a new word at my age, sixty-five.

Catcalls thrown across a street cut like knives

I screamed at him phrases harsh, guttural,

returned home, reticent, cleaned Mom’s vomit

amber whiskey, I drank on ice in glass,

I wondered while she slept, when would she quit?

I’d learned to drink when she’d said, 'Make me one.'

When? Too young to know, dumped the old, fixed new

took sips while I poured, picking up her vice

Learned a new word at my age, sixty-five.

When I was twelve, I did not hide, Mom knew,

by age fourteen, Mom too sick, should be done

My mother said, 'Life is a toss of dice,'

at fifteen, just glad my mom was alive.

Many days on her, I could not depend

I became a thief, cigarettes for friends,

Make-up, beer, wine - anything for money

Had new buddies, a new nickname: Fingers.

Learned a new word at my age, sixty-five,

but nothing lasts for Nomads always strive

other side of street, life might be sunny.

Whose life, I wondered, Mine? Ours? Maybe hers?

Eleven schools before I turned sixteen

then I left to stay with oldest sister,

with my other sister six months later,

seventeen, back with Mom, cleaned last of puke,

sick all the time, whiskey, herself deprived.

Learned a new word at my age, sixty-five.

I lived with my mom ‘til I was eighteen,

met my first husband, her words did rebuke.

My mind made up, Mom threatened suicide,

apron strings I cut, many tears I cried,

she was alone then, inside I felt old.

Three years later the same man still connived

at bus stop, my niece, her friends: I bared teeth,

Mom was there, heard what I’d kept underneath.

Learned a new word at my age, sixty-five.

Her face pale, she asked why I’d never told.

I spewed the words, spoke the truth, my voice shrill.

'Well, honey,' my sister said; Mom looked down,

'I don’t remember,' were her words of shame.

'You were drunk when I was four,' my words spilled

without a thought. She cried, was that my aim?

'At fourteen I cussed him out, I survived.'

Mom remorseful, so was I, room, no sound.

Learned a new word at my age, sixty-five.