Guilty Parties

Slightly tilt your head to the sky and wish for better times.

Our mothers gift us our guilt

Under bright lights, in the supermarket

Where they peel stickers from old coleslaw

And add them to the meat.

It was a cold Christmas in 2004

When we left without paying for dinner

(although she didn’t tell you this ’til after,

Speeding away,

The radio playing The Pogues,

Another place we could no longer go).

Our guilt is our own now,

Candle wax dripping on the grief

Small children must face

When they realize they aren’t

Or are, but still invisible 

To men in the pub making jokes

While you sip flat coke and 

Imagine other fathers

Taking their daughters swimming.

Time to make up for lost bank notes,

The ones I hid in my bra,

The watch I stole when I was twelve,

The Claddagh ring,

Silver and ridged, two hands 

Enfolding 

Time 

She never indicated it was missing.

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Jade Green (she/her) writes fiction and nonfiction, co-hosts a podcast about the creative process, and coaches other writers. She is the editor of oranges journal and lives in Bristol, UK.