I fold my hands beneath the table, knees
Trembling with the weight I cannot speak,
Storms rage, waves crash, wars ******,
My body worn and weak.
My mother speaks,
Sharp words spitting from forked tongue.
She touches me. I freeze again,
Survival has begun.
That overpowering perfume chokes,
And steals the air I breathe,
I’m a child again,
Helpless, afraid.
Too late, the trigger’s squeezed.
I’m trying still to play my part,
Dutiful, compliant role.
But every word that’s fired
Burns skin,
Carves through my soul.
Eyes ache and throb,
A salty sting,
From lack of sleep and gin.
Each drink a veil,
A sip of strength,
To keep the shadows in.
I yearn to leave,
To shrink, dissolve.
To skip the part where I revolve,
Around the needs of all but mine,
To vanish, quietly, into time.
But leaving would confirm the lie,
That I’m ungrateful, wouldn’t try.
So I stay,
I play my part and swallow down my plea,
Keeping up the show we’re in
Hoping no one’s watching me.
They’ll see a woman warm and wild,
A sister, auntie, mother’s child,
Not the broken thing beneath the skin,
The war I fight to hold it in.
So here I am, with glass in hand,
With those who’ll never understand,
Smiling hard until I’m through,
Surrounded, but alone, with you.