LET GO

Searching for words in the waves that break

Sitting beside you

Holding your hand

I remember how it used to be

Back then when you didn’t let me run

Each time that I tried

Back then when you held me close

Each time that I cried

The pickles I loved

Now sour on my tongue as I chew

The world has shrunk

Shrivelled, somehow, along with you

I watch as you stare at the sea

Your face a blank

Your mind –

 

The salt stings my eyes

My heart aches and I wonder why

When you’re still here with me and there’s time

Time to walk hand in hand

Searching for shells in the warm golden sand

Mockingbird

Last night it was the electric iron. Tonight, it is the washing machine. You watch as he sets it on spin, and then listen to the screams that seem to echo from hell. Afterwards, you soothe the wounds as best you can. But the holes keep getting bigger. You work tirelessly, feverishly, sealing off one hole after the next, knowing you would give your life’s blood if you could but you only have ten fingers and they are not enough. Not nearly.

You recall the first night he kicked you down the stairs. You lay there, gasping like a beached whale, each breath slicing like a knife through your gut. Your distended belly blocked him from view as he screamed, whore, I will kill that devil’s child, and then he left you, lying there with the blood soaking through your jeans down to the beautiful cashmere carpet below.

The carpet’s been replaced and the staircase polished many times since, and you tread with care, afraid of slipping as you softly sing – 

 

Hush, little baby, don’t say a word

Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…

 

The nights go on and the methods vary but the result is always the same. The Devil’s Child, they say He cannot be killed.

Tomorrow night, it will be the gas oven. And the night after, the television.