Little things draw one into abuse –
Memories of good times, so obtuse
Each and every detail – black or white;
Simple belief:  whose fault – the fight.

 

Trivial the question of whether to fear
The slap so sudden or a dripping tear;
A wrong look, a silent reflection:
How, again, she caused rejection?

 

Then the reminder of who knows best,
And who decides if she passed the test.
Each day spent humbly with an Ego Shell:
Cringing, waiting to feel and know hell.
Just being alone, nowhere to turn.
Unless I’m there; can I really learn
The fear of facing after-shock
Of his earthquake fist: one knock?

 

Is it all for naught, the heart cries out?
She reaches forward, and about,
Trying to appeal to a loving heart.
She’s done her best: she’s done her part.

 

She vows right then: this will be the last,
Just as always  in the past.
Then he comes wearing elocution,
Seeking and finding absolution –

 

Filling her softly with his song.
His smile makes her long
To be held tight for a while;
Basking in his promising smile.

 

It could last – he’ll surely try,
He’ll repent: she won’t have to die
Secretly closeted in fear of his rages –
All the time knowing, it could be ages.

 

—- Lois Fowler Barrett © 2005