Sylvie Hill

Attention Like A Siren’s Song

No one really asks me much if I miss her.
People don’t ask those types of questions anymore.
We keep it light: friends are busy for sure
with work, their anxieties, families, burdens.

But those questions: they’re necessary
I ask them of others: a step into “you get me.”
And I should think you’d find a better word than “crazy”
to describe my fierce attachment to your empathy.

That time you took the time to write me
I was crushed by her casual mention of my ex so callously.
By midnight, I’d left the river, made my exit graciously.
Mother left by the fire after she destroyed me carelessly.

I was crushed and sick that someone who birthed me
Could be so clueless and hurtful and gossiping!
I thought, “why should I stay here, suffering?”
And told her, “Mother, I’m going home now, good evening.”

A full day of notes to you, I left but a short midnight one:
“So, after spending all day setting up mum
I’ve left the cottage and I’m home now”
And I didn’t write: wanted to sort it myself somehow.

Didn’t want to lean on you: knew you’d be there.
Wanted you to have a good weekend: not deal with this girl.
There you were with one, then two, three notes I remember:
“What happened?” again until you could make me feel better.

You said this was something you knew something about
That parents are like bulls in a china shop.
That they’re not entirely mean – just ignorant
That they don’t get you, and it shows when they say stupid stuff.

But you don’t know how much I’ve been injured
I’m not weak but the instability was torture.
That a parent derives a sick satisfaction
From watching you squirm painfully from their drama?

This is sickening! I reel as I write it!
I should never wish to hurt a child if I loved it!
Why, I’d only want to nurture, care and protect
But these parents of mine: they feel in hurt and superior in their neglect.

So please do find a better word than “crazy”
To describe my fierce attachment to your empathy.
I had only to write you to share with you my feelings
And you were right there always to preserve me.

When it changed, I panicked and suffocated!
Hurled hurting words and your distance desecrated!
When you turned me into the villain due to my persistence
Did you not see the compliment to you in my insistence?

But I always said it was like you danced me constant
And never took a break from watching over me, vigilant
And through wit, music, words supported
We exhausted the fuck out of each other, we sure did.

“I didn’t want to get personal,” you ended.
“So why did you care for me then,” I defended.

You do not know what it is to have a sadistic father
Burn a step-sister in the piping hot bath water.
You do not know what it is to have a cruel sister
Who bullies you and puts you down in front of others.

You do not know how it is to observe a mother
Condone your mistreatment, push you right into the fire
Into the hands of the father she calls an Abuser
Then blame you for leaving her while she was the neglecter.

And I should think you’d find a better word than “crazy”
to describe my fierce attachment to your empathy.
And of course if they say “She’s fucked – it’s been five years!”
Maybe instead of laughing at me, you’ll communicate concisely:

We were great friends, shit happened, we could not handle the fall out.

I have a history of being discarded and discarding, my love,
So ask yourself in a quiet ocean moment why I hold on…
Tethered to a connection: tendrilled like an octopus
You equally were lulled after your break-up

my attention like a siren’s song.

© Sylvie Hill 2018