divorce is a dirty word


Daddy bought us a condo unit—
2-bedroom, fully-furnished, brand-new,
ready for occupancy—
on the other side of town, far from
the smell of Mom’s cooking,
the sound of her voice,
the sight of her face in the morning.

(They keep reassuring us it isn’t our fault;
nobody ever thought it was. We don’t talk
about the pajamas we left in the closet
back at the old house,
just in case. We don’t talk
about our sudden allowance raise,
the price of gasoline,
the cleaning lady who comes once a week
and turns on the television
for some ambient noise courtesy of a telenovela
about a mustached Don and his querida.)

Amenities include an Olympic-sized pool
a modern gym with state-of-the-art equipment
function rooms, free WiFi
24-hour security
wide doorways and high ceilings 
built to accommodate
the elephant in the room.

{Originally published on Rookie.}