SOME THINGS I NEVER TOLD ANYONE
When I begged my parents
to let me go on the Mousetrap ride
I didn’t know
that at each and every hairpin turn
half my car would hang
for what seemed minutes in mid-air
before jerking right
or left then back
to a too short straight away
before the next turn
and the next
why did I tell them I loved it
on that holiday when my father
forgot the Nikon
its rolls and rolls of 35mm film
all our vacation photos
on the hook of a stall door
in a London men’s room
remembered
when we were in the Tube
hurtling toward Heathrow
he lost his temper yelled at us
why did I think it was my fault
I picked that coaster ride
to show my parents
that their pre-teen daughter
could go it alone
dizzy with shame
white-knuckled
I spotted them
far below on trusted ground
clung to their faces
why did I keep it to myself
when we stayed that night
at the highway motel
room doors open to the outdoors
and I was helping
carry our stuff board games piled
to my chin
and lost my way
picked the wrong door
pushed with my foot
and walked in
on a naked couple limbs entwined
the woman looked right at me
all those game boxes in my arms
Chutes and Ladders Candy Land Life
each sharp edge marking
the tender insides of my forearms
my father left us standing there in the London Tube
six kids my mother her massive canvas bag
of passports snacks tickets
she looked right at me
pulled the white sheet over their tangled legs
I could not turn away
I’d never seen my parents touch
I gripped that Mousetrap’s safety bar
he caught the next train back
to that stop that men’s room
the camera gone
I saw I saw I saw
they were grown ups
as beautiful as statues in museums
I still blame myself
—from Rattle #77, Fall 2022
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Cindy Veach: “I believe that memories choose us and not the other way around. This poem braids together three memories that refused to leave me alone. I felt intense guilt and shame about each one of these memories and, true to the poem’s title, never shared them with anyone.” (web)
