Poetry By Loren Crawford

John Buie CC




Patrimony

The eldest daughter of an alcoholic will always lie 
if she thinks it will smooth the way.
She will always say
that everything is alright.
When things go wrong,
she will assume
she missed something
didn’t say or do the right thing
didn’t try hard enough.
She can disappear in front of you
leaving behind a shadow
you would swear was the real thing.
She hides her empties behind curtains
and under armchairs
raising glass after glass in a toast
to what ought to be there.
The eldest daughter of an alcoholic
counts her losses like sheep
as she spirals into sleep
to dream of babies she misplaced 
and forgot to feed,
rocketing out of bed 
to search for them- 
Where are they?
What have I done?
What have I done?

The eldest daughter
feathers her nest in the dark
so no one can see
what will never hatch. 

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Loren Crawford finds hope in teaching and creating theater with young people at a school she loves in Louisville, Kentucky. Her work has appeared in Pine Mountain Sand & Gravel, Still: The Journal, and Untelling: The Literary and Arts Magazine of Hindman Settlement School.