3 Angry Parent

We swirl around each other,
his tears prick my eyes.
Anger bounces between us,
standing in for the ballgame we should be playing.

My brain reads about itself.
The machine making aware of its formation.
I say I practice breathing.
I don’t. I just breathe. When I remember.

Do others
develop multiple parts?
The one who rages and traumas into madness,
while another gently tells the first, “Hush now. We’re alright.”

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