Crumpled bed sheets, crumpled life
Crumpled woman upon the floor
Another night, another fight
Her son standing at her door
Numb and tingling all at the same moment.
Sobs and sucks of a snot stuffed nose
Invites the child inside . . .
To hold her, to love her, when no one else does.
He can’t even look at her when she cries.
The tears of mama are salt in the wound
of his seven or so years of life.
The smell of her Revlon-colored hair
Recalls the essence of the source of her pain:
Quote “marriage” to this weak quote “man”
Takes happiness from her grasp
The half-cocked smile of this half-cocked man
Turns the knife . . .
ever so slightly. . .
What comes to mind upon first entrance
of his face into my thoughts?
A reed swaying in the breeze
Dead chaff moving with the forces around it
Weakness, passivity, and pissed-off pessimism
Define that which I call “daddy” and what she calls “pain.”