Poetry By Gabby Gilliam

        Sunghwan Yoon CC



I Don’t Like Sundays

As the flesh melted 
from your bones 
stray cash disappeared. 

It was little things at first 
a missing piggy bank 
bills missing from purses. 

One Sunday we came home 
from church to find you had
raided the house for valuables. 

I listened to our parents 
fight about whether 
they would press charges.

We staked your boyfriend’s place out 
like we were on a cop show instead 
of a broken family dressed in our Sunday best. 

When you went into his house 
we drove to the corner store 
used a payphone to call the police.

Did the boyfriend ever come visit 
you in jail or rehab? We did--
driving out to sit through 

family therapy sessions 
every Sunday, like healing you 
was our new homily.




​Gabby Gilliam lives in the DC metro area with her husband and son. Her poetry has most recently appeared in One Art, Tofu Ink, The Ekphrastic Review, Pure Slush, Deep Overstock, Vermillion, MacQueen’s Quinterly, and Equinox. You can find her online at gabbygilliam.squarespace.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/GabbyGilliamAuthor.
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