Friday, July 12, 2013


Once her fuming fit was spent
she slept it off so I could bawl
then shakily I thumbed the dent
in the swirly pink Formica wall

remembering how she had aimed
that griddle at my little head
as bloodshot eyes intensely flamed,
Thank God I wasn't dead!

and I still don't know what sparked her rage
or why she took it out on me
perhaps I symbolized the cage
from which she's finally free.

Abuse aside, I'd never trade
my saga for another one
we all have grave mistakes we've made
and I am such a sorry son

I say a prayer for her at night
embraced by silence that abounds
and long for arms that held me tight
before she gave in to her wounds.

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