My Daughter Is A Runaway

Your body is a hotel room for others
replete with room service, wake-up calls and a
Do Not Disturb sign
hung from the doorknob like a noose.
Every caress on skin, each nail scarring flesh
is a train ticket to freedom,
or so you think.
Mealtime your chair sits empty here.
Neither my wife or me meet eyes,
forking food into our mouths like
a granary with empty chutes
Nighttime we sit in soft cushioned chairs,
waiting for your calls that never come,
which is how we know you
really mean it this time.

Len Kuntz is a writer from Washington State, an editor at the online magazine Literary Orphans, and the author of I’m Not Supposed to Be Here and Neither Are You, out now from Unknown Press. You can also find him at

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to My Daughter Is A Runaway

  1. Unflinching and powerful, Len. Well done on a tough subject.

  2. Ryan Stone says:

    Excellent, Len! Powerful and edgy, it really packs a punch. Well done!

  3. goldenf says:

    Woah, I got the shivers. So sad and raw.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.