I Have to be Honest (Anaphora) by Patricia Theriot
I have to be honest, I was thinking about the argument.
I have to be honest, I wasn’t paying attention.
I have to be honest, I didn’t think of you
as I closed my car door
and walked into the store.
I have to be honest, I strolled down the aisles.
I have to be honest, my eyes skimmed over the books, taking nothing in.
I have to be honest, I stood rigid and turned in circles.
Where had I left your stroller?
Did I leave you sleeping in an aisle?
I have to be honest, I wouldn’t do that,
I thought.
I have to be honest, I dropped the books on the floor.
I have to be honest, I sprinted to the car.
I have to be honest, I almost paused,
with wide, animalistic eyes,
at the idea of what I would find.
I have to be honest, it was a smoldering day in July.
I have to be honest, I knew I wouldn’t recover if you weren’t alive.
I have to be honest, I sped through red lights with you in my arms.
I have to be honest, you had tiny white dots on your skin.
I have to be honest, I screamed through the phone.
“I FORGOT her!”
“In the car…”
“20 minutes…”
“Meet me at the hospital!”
Click.
I have to be honest, he told me to lie.
“Don’t tell them you forgot.”
“I have to be honest,” I said back to him
with gritted teeth
and eyes filled with heat.
“I won’t cover this up with a lie.”
I have to be honest, I pleaded with the nurse.
“I forgot she was with me.”
“It is mandatory to call CPS,” the nurse replied.
I have to be honest, I wanted to die.
I have to be honest, they said you were fine.
They cooled you off and gave you juice.
I have to be honest, I clung to your dad and repeated apologies
through sobs and snot and a splotchy face sinking into guilty hands.
I have to be honest, he was kind.
He said, “It was just a mistake.”
“I have to be honest,” I belted out to our family at dinner.
“I have to be honest, I left her in the car.”
The loud silence was only broken by clanking of silverware
and squeaking of chairs.
I have to be honest, I read a post online
about a man in my town who did the same thing that week.
I have to be honest, I read the comments.
“What kind of parent forgets their own kid?”
“What a piece of shit.”
I have to be honest, I sank into a hole of hatred,
that I dug for myself.
I have to be honest, every night your dad woke up to watch me.
“You have to stop this,” he would say.
I would wake up in a sweat,
run to the crib,
search for you in the sheets.
I have to be honest, every night I replayed my mistake.
“I have to be honest,” I say to an older version of that baby.
Your innocent blue eyes and long lashes blink back at me.
“I have to be honest about when I forgot you,
In a car…
In the heat….
I have to be honest. I am the only one to blame.”
“I have to be honest,” she said.
“This is harder on you than it is me.”
“I’m fine.”
It’s okay, Mom.”
“It was just a mistake.”
I have to be honest, those were words I needed to hear.
I have to be honest about the haunting truth…
That we were just lucky…
Unlike that man in my town who buried his child.
ponderwithpatty 