ITH & SB

The storm pummeled me
………………like a satanic Tsunami
pounding
………….an unsuspecting shore.

From some unknown
…..deep
……….depth

within my core… I roared.

I roared, during cloudy days,
during dark thankless nights.

Motherhood,
…….at this moment
“deplored”…

…….I whimpered…

*

Crazed …. came in waves,
while my intellect failed me
in explore… I tore at my hair,
at my clothes,
at my husband
even more.

I swore words
extracted from wicked caves
echoing,

wracking my increasingly more brittle bones
to bend in curvatures of never before.

Acid spittle of cracker remnants plus lemon tea
fired back in anger
up my throat… to choke me

again and again…

*

She spoke harshly to me,
her mother who loved her more than he ever could.

He, this strange young man?
who my baby,
he did not come to know
to love, as a fiancée… should

when her naïve ignorance in eagerness did show…

As, we, her parents
knew… It would.

*

He had,
it had been proven

did more than her shove…

This,
in the end

we did come
to know.

*

Upheld she ultimately was… Though, not as his prize…
against a wall… black and blue showed his fists were balled…

He did… As a performer does…
To his audience beckon; there to heed their calls.

Their appetites
hungry for a cultivated taste:

in this violent world
for blood to make haste… in flow

before their vision… her breath to away, blow…

Done, in reality,… but as a… video

Unbeknownst,
for… reel… her life to go…

His followers knew
what my baby did not:

A young life is cheap to narcissistic others.

Valued only to mothers, fathers, and maybe brothers.

*

Her… Sweet sixteen… He,
man promising many teens—Queen
to his rising reign self-proclaimed ‘artist’…

Worldly and mean…

*

I sway…
back

to attack stained porcelain;

my limp arms to encircle
in need of cool comfort

my heated cheek
did unseemingly
befriend it,

indeed…

*

I could not forget
her.

My arms embracing her for the first time…

*

Through again retching
on her anniversary I am reminded:

Your children my be
only priceless to those who love them;

where she, in innocent first love,

forgot

to search for sure signs
of any despise…

for emotionless
dead eyes…

I wished this thought
I’d emphasized.

*

To appeal to God above…

*

Whereas, did she call for her father of tender birth
to rescue her in strangled breathe?
… I am bereft…

This thief stole… “My beloved! I cry…

*

Her corpse lying
silent in victimized shame
is all I could in anguish claim…

My grief to all willing hearers proclaim:

I await this day—

“Your dead will live.
My corpses will rise up.

Awake and shout joyfully,
You residents in the dust!

For your dew is as the dew of the morning,

And the earth
will let those powerless in death come to life.” Isa. 26:19.

Until that day… Her first love
I still do

In anger,
blame.