Lady

Lady,

I don't know you

but 

 I can tell

you have a story

it's written all

over you

your face

young

bruised

and make-up

can't hide

what's on the outside

nor does it disguise

what's radiating

from within

 you're marked

a victim

does he hit you when he's sober

and excuse it 'cuz he's drunk

you'll say

with downcast eyes

"I caught my sweater

on the banister

and tripped"

You're

carrying your 

10th load

of laundry

containing the stains

of an afternoon

of misery

Lady,

why do you stay?

Still I Stay

The dark circle showing nights 

of not knowing

exactly why things

come about

the way they do

I wonder who it is I married

I wonder if he'll notice

I didn't greet

his staggering steps 

this time

I watch

shaking hand pour another

tender feelings I once felt

spill to the floor

with the rhythm

of overflowing foam

I cloak myself

in the darkness

of the dead-end stairway

I step out to ask, "Why?"

Only to encounter

eyes

red

like the soda and wine

he's now drinking

His anger rises with the bubbles

exploding words

Whore. . .bitch, 

you cold-hearted. . .

he slurs

Does he mean it?

He's drunk, he can't know

A flicker of mean intelligence

emerges

pin-point pupils

He knows.

Cinnamon Mist

Home alone, heavy silence.  Dawn, yet to show her colors.  The weight of my sins leave me plastered and numb to the chair.  At least my eyes could stare out the window.  Thank heaven, the strength to open the blinds in the living room hadn't deserted me before grief came kicking its way in and knocking me on my ass.  The phone call was like a sword used to cut out a splinter instead of a needle carefully coaxing the pain out.  No sympathy exists for either of the conversants.  Both rise, weapons drawn and ready to wound.  The brutal surgery leaves my heart slowly beating on the dark wood surface. My body, waits patiently to shudder with its last breath, imagines the timing would be with the last weak beat of my broken soul, the accompanying words, "It's all your fault."  Horrible thinking I can die, un-absolved.

The rosy fingers of morning peek over the hills.  I want to feel the wonder, the miracle of birthing a new day.  Instead I close my eyes against the positive, allowing the tears to well over for my losses and forcing myself into realizing the undeniable. It is and always will be a two-for-one deal.  Sobs wrack my body, while indulging in self-pity, for how long was unknown? The sun, pierces my personal darkness, orders me to view the invading light.  It was like the voice on the other end of the line.  He is cold and righteous while informing me of my treason. The reasons for the end.  How I caused the death of all that was good in the world.

Suddenly, the sun is above the hills, journeying west across the high desert.  Is it really the afternoon?   The birds flit hungrily between the yards.  While  chattering away their complaints, rabbits timidly creep into the yard, looking for the scraps of compost I deliberately dropped on my way to the worm bin.  I want to feel guilt for not fulfilling my daily duties.  Instead, I wonder if I was alive, for hunger did not wake my belly.  The heart barely pulses against its current position on the floor.  Instead words, like the air, invade my space, pulling, demanding to be examined.  Beating against my mind.

I left a message last night. It severed all claims he had on me and I on him.  Freedom was given on both ends. My inner peace was restored.  I was simply to spend the next few weeks in recovery.  That it was shattered so easily by my enemy lover was a sour defeat! Relief was supposed to be his to cherish. The asshole was successful in making it all my responsibility.  Bitterly deciding that it was easy to win when attacking a person who had been asleep at four in the morning!  Dreaming of a future unhindered by the unwanted. His accusations of murder. Yet, he had been the one to attack me recently, causing injuries to two.

As I try to follow his train of thought that he had after the witching hour, and my pathetic agreement to his logic, the sky begins darkening.  A howling wind tears through my backyard, the animals vanish in minutes before.  Slam! Slam!  The old fence on both sides violently fall, raising reddish sand.  The dirt gathers in cyclonic fashion turning the clear day into a cinnamon haze.  The dust devil dances toward the house.  I remain sitting, frozen.  Somehow my heart fearfully returns, thumping against my chest.  Then I stand, mesmerized, lethargy gone, meeting Mother Nature's wrath.  Whispering to the pitted glass that I am sorry; I never meant to be out of control with that man; I never meant to destroy two families; I never meant for the baby to die.  The tornado charges the window. Shattering flying shards forcing me back. Tripping over my blanket-tangled feet, I fall,  raising my arms futilely against a glass rain. Abruptly as it appeared, it is gone. Eerie stillness reigns, the rose brown still shading the skies above my house. I murmur a prayer of grief and gratitude.  A faint voice in the settling mist responds, "You'll join your baby later."   On my knees, head lowered,  youth's arrogance humbled, I kept repeating my words.  And I know, as dusk slips in, that somehow I am forgiven.

Heartbreak

You kill me.  You're the second person to throw me away.  I am the trash that you took out and left, forgotten, on the curb.  Why think of me anymore, someone will make sure I'll be seen no more.  Your rough hands clean of any crime.  So I sit, devastated with my secret.  Heartbreak sets in.  For you are not discarding one, but two. 

How happy your reunion must be with the woman you told me you divorced!  Back to normal is what you think.  Back to an old woman you can control, hit, kick, grab and shake.  Sad, to learn she takes you back with gratitude for the familiar routine of the machismo male, telling her how to live, look, and love.  Has she not lived in America long enough to have learned?  But no, she will take the money that you will give her, as long as she complies.  She will obediently be deaf, mute and blind to your indiscretions.  She will smile with unshed tears in her eyes to all your lies.  I realize that you love to hurt others by trying to make them the fool, to deceive, to prove you are on top, warranted or not. You love your ego to be inflated, especially when you do it yourself.  I will wait patiently for karma to knock you down.

I can't live that way, my children will not live that way.  This baby will never know you for a father.  I will not be thrown away.  I stand and remove myself from the dirty edge.  Determination and self-love kick in!  Confidently I step away from the black bags.  I dumped your ass and for good reason.  The abuse, the inability to keep up with me in bed, your pathetic income, lack of education and the Napoleon complex!  Obviously only one of us can handle the truth.  I am better than you.  I am beautiful and I am back in control.  That is why you left, for I am the queen and you are the serf.  Tenderly,  I touch my belly.  Into the world I will bring a strong-willed child that will not be taken in by others' bullshit.  I am the one with the power to show her, for I learned the hard way.  That, I can and will thank you. And now, walking back to a clean world,  I am over my heartbreak, for you are not worth being broken for.

Dirty blood

"I hate you," my voice was flat, devoid of any emotion.  I didn't recognize myself.  Just so fucking exhausted, tired of pretending to feel. The rage was down to an ember.  No energy to fuel it, to make myself fight back.
His old black eyes glittered contempt.  "There's no escaping me." The mocking voice that was once so sexy and deep made me shudder now.

My shoulders barely shrugged in response to his apparently factual statement.  He was convinced he owned me.  I could barely remember how I got trapped by the bastard in the first place.  Had it been five years?  It felt longer, forever trapped in quicksand.  Lured by the seemingly solid surface, beautiful warm beach sand, gently sinking ever more surely to the death of my soul.  I remembered once, that I tried to reach for the thin tree branch that grew over the pit.  My hand tried to work its way back up, then paused, wondering if it was still afraid of freedom.

"Darling, I want you to leave and be on time. . .please."  I tried to sound like I was pleading.  "Honey, don't you need to go to work?"  Of course I failed miserably.  He came toward me anyway.  "Lila, darling, I took the day off for you, just for you."  He was drooling poison, his grin and movements were that of the Komodo dragon.  Slow deliberate, then lightning fast.  I wished I could run, but he'd broken my leg with one well placed hammer blow. The cast was heavy and he had deliberately placed the crutches out of range.  I had left the house last week without his permission.  But, if I hadn't gone to get milk, he would have beat me for not going.

He told the cops that I fell of the ladder.  I obediently nodded.  The younger cop didn't believe me.  Officer Johnson kindly tried to speak to me alone.  The cop gently said that the x-rays told a different story. Dr. Rainey was concerned.  Then he told me about his poor abused mother.  I simply responded  that I had fallen, foolishly trying to clean the rain gutters on my own.  The sorrowful look on his face almost overpowered the threatening one of Daemon's through the grided glass of the hospital room.

I closed my eyes to my stupidity.  The young cop would have saved me.  But I had no interest in saving myself. Sick, mentally sick, that's what I am.  The bed sank w/ Daemon's weight.  A calloused hand with slender fingers caressed my face.  Oh, I remembered when that hand could bring me to my knees with desire.  Now I was trained to expect pain.  I flinched when the touching stopped.  He laughed, for he knew my expectations.

"Not today Lila, my little love, I brought you a present."  Quickly I opened my eyes and feigned surprise.  It would help me postpone the beating, if  I could fake excitement well enough.  He waved a pregnancy test at me.  That's why the birth control had been withheld from me. 

"It's time to have a child."  His pants were already undone and placed on the seat.  He kept his fucking socks on.  The box was carefully set down on the nightstand.  Then shirt was pulled off, showing his six pack.  He folded it carefully over the chair back.  In the mirror he flexed and admired himself.  I used to help build that ego.

Watching him in his never changing routine, caused my charcoal rage to glow.  As my imagination began to churn, sparks began to appear.  If I had a daughter, what would he do to her?  I don't want her to grow up weak like me. Sparks became flames.  If I had a son, how would he be turned against me?  I didn't want him to turn out like his father.  I begin to scream over and over again, "NO!"  Daemon grabbed the covers roughly off of me.  He hit my cast, punched me in the stomach.  The shock of pain, caused me to whimper. It turned him on.  Quickly he was on top, pulled my pj's off.  Then I hyper-focused, turned inward, and turned my fury cold.  Can't burn the branch from the tree that had been growing down and thick toward the quicksand just for me.  Like a banshee bent on vengence, my spirit rose from its sandy grave. "NO!" tore through the air to save the unborn souls, I reached under the pillow for the butter knife I had originally reserved for myself and began to stab him in the back, again and again and again.  When all went still, I realized I had glorious red all over me.  Somehow, he was lighter. Hopefully, because he went to hell.  I shoved him off and called 911 and waited, while his dirty blood caked itself, his last chance to claim me.

Darkness' Indecision

Where am I?  It's black, just so black.  I can't see.  I can barely feel the ground.  The rushing air felt like it was 30 below.  It did nothing for my balance or my sense of direction.  Sideways, I slipped across an icy surface. Where am I? Panic rose violently, breathe fast and shallow. . .slow down.  Get back control, one thing at a time.  Slow down!  The dark, so oppressive, ignore it.  STOP! Focus, what is the last thing I can remember?

We were going to my favorite Thai restaurant. The electronic red "Don't Walk" flashed adamantly as we waited on the snow covered corner. Our voices were given misty gray form in the winter weather as we discussed what we would eat. Jared insisted that I get my favorite dessert today, no matter what!  The light changed, traffic slowed, all vehicles' color shaded dull with salted grime.  Safety white flashed the walking man. I barely noticed its prompt, stared adoringly up into Jared's chocolate brown eyes.  His blond hair shone like a halo against sky blue.  I just knew today was the day! We started across 395.  I squeezed his gloved hands tight in romantic anticipation.  The world was just so bright.   Suddenly there were screams coming from behind us.  I looked away from happiness and saw a huge green truck, strangely clean, relentlessly careening in our direction! I shoved Jared out of the way. Then, laughter, cold heartless laughter. . .abyss.

The wind's frozen fingers pushed and pulled me forward to the rhythm of the fading echoes, evil's amusement at my fate.  Each shaky step took me further from. . .what?  I realized numbly that I didn't know if I was truly going anywhere. Except.. .perhaps. . . away from life.  My feet felt bare.  They burned with each icy step.  I felt forced across a glacier.  My eyes refused to adjust to the dark.  I stubbornly kept them open, hoping to grab at any sign of light, any change in the shades. 

Spinning cautiously around, my fingertips met nothing in any direction! My arms automatically wrapped around myself. Startled, I realized my clothes were gone. This knowledge helped fear work its way out of the cage I had placed it in.  My legs buckled from under me and like a child I curled up into a shaking ball.  Eyes slammed closed, ears covered, lips moved, "Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil, see no evil, speak no. . ." A hollow voice chanted sardonically with me, causing me to pause.  Helpless, hopeless, I rose to greet it.  Death's burning silhouette remained genderless and shapeless under tattered robes that blew about it in gusts.  "Why should Death have clothes?"  I wondered bitterly.  My fear abated with that strange thought.

Involuntarily, I stepped closer.  Its surreal  light a welcome relief from the infinite night.  Could its flames warm me? Like the proverbial moth, I prayed for release from this existence, mesmerized by beckoning reds, I was denied. My hands touched nothing.  Disappointed, I continued to shiver uncontrollably.  Death, with its fleshless grin, pointed and turned.  Two identical wooden doors appeared. Though each had a different color light leaking from their frames.  The left one had a calming green-blue and the right had a warm orange-yellow glow.  Indecision wracked my soul.  What was the right choice?  I foolishly wanted to ask, but it was gone.

Finally  I sobbed and sat down in front of the doors.  I am sitting there still, tormented by the colors that teased they were both the right choice?  Like my life, indecision has become my hell, and the frozen dark tundra my haven.

Couldn't Cross

A child. . .of mine?

Who

 would you

have looked like

no bigger than my palm

you came out violently

I barely knew

 you were there

I had an uneasy feeling

but ignorance was bliss

until

the pain of cramps

a rush of blood

tears and screams

of horror

you came out

looking inhuman

guilt of my knowing

you weren't

really wanted

there were three

in poverty

already

you would've

never known

you would've

been accepted

eventually

loved

for I am not a mother

who could deny

an innocent child

so I bury you

in my garden

three feet under

should it be six?

I pray

as I place the rocks

that the soul

that would've crossed

the threshold to mortality

wasn't around

to know the pain

of loss

as you slipped out

too early

to know

life