Emily Jo Scalzo- Three Poems

The End of Childhood?

In this new world

dogs wear sweaters

and kids wear collars,

pets are kids and kids are pets—

cattle prodded down a “a Path.”

No Halloween costumes

or Christmas presents, since

they’re commercialized Satanism.

Concerned parents replace fun

with “wholesome Christian activities”

designed to brainwash

the next generation.

They package childhood

and sell it as Satanic,

because fun isn’t in God’s plan.

Kids forced to watch The Passion

instead of “unwholesome” cartoons.

A 2-hour beating on film—

no wonder they’re fucked up

and bringing guns with them to school.

Welcome to the neo-Puritan household,

where we raise puppets incapable of critical thought.

“Listen to Mommy or you’re going to hell.”

Tug on a string and get a response.

Here’s the eternal brand of family love;

it’s just fear with a new name.

The Process of Grief

Around the table they gossip,

talk about impending family visits,

and ultimately begrudge my uncle his grief.

He isn’t coming to visit,

and they judge him for it,

ignoring his needs for their wants.

 

I was the one who went down to help

after Adam’s death,

when he had trouble sleeping or eating

after dreaming of the crash the night it happened,

like Adam reached out in his last moments

to connect to him one last time,

waking him so he was there to take the call—

there had been an accident,

and he was really gone.

He wandered the house in the days following,

everything reminding him of Adam,

unable to function.

They had planned like father and son

instead of uncle and nephew

to buy a few acres of land and open a shooting range.

They had home videos of skeet shooting,

laughter and pranks,

working on their cars together.

“He needs to get over it,”

only two months later,

and I hate them for it.

Comfort Food

Late nights, you would bring

Italian beef sandwiches from work,

come to visit, laugh around

Grandma's kitchen table. 

My parents were separated;

at Grandma's house

I shared a bed with my mom

when she wasn't delivering newspapers.

You had lost your home,

kicked out at eighteen,

but still you would come

from your restaurant delivery job,

ignoring your own hardships

to cheer us with your presence

and make sure we ate

during hard times.

Italian beef has been my favorite

ever since you introduced me to it

one late night when I was fifteen.

The taste, texture, remind me of

happiness in the midst of uncertainty,

the scent of your musical laughter.

Now, one month after your death

I eat and remember beyond the grief.

Bio: Emily Jo Scalzo received a BA in Creative Writing from Purdue and an MFA in Creative Writing with a concentration in fiction from Fresno State. She currently resides in Muncie, Indiana, and is an assistant professor at Ball State University. Her work has been published in Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, and is forthcoming in Eunoia Review.