Love Isn’t Supposed Make You Cry
Just outside the door
in my six year old body
fists balled up, insides churning,
confused, frightened, salty
taste of bile in my mouth.
How could Daddy talk
to Mommy like that? I didn’t
know love sounded like that,
I didn’t know it left bruises,
I didn’t know it made you cry.
Curled up in a ball I place
my fingers in the crack between
the bottom of the door and
the floor, giving her my strength
and wishing him away. As silence
descends, I hear her cries
muffled by the pillow
and the loud snoring
of the stranger
in her room.
© Jennie Wheeling 1998
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