Drops of Blood

Drops of blood fall on the table
She puts the needle and fabric down and puts on a band-aid
Her third one for the night
It’s late
She’s practically seeing double
Stopping isn’t an option
Her daughter needs the dress for her recital in the morning
She’s a mother
Her job is to insure her daughter has all she needs
She’ll be thanked for the dress
Not the time
She looks at the clock, 1:00 am
Eight more hours till the recital


Punching Bag

Do you remember the night you proposed to me?
Of course you do.
You, David looking so fine in your Army uniform, the only suit you owned.
With charm, you convinced my father to grant you permission to marry me.
With beauty and the skills of a chef, you convinced me to love you.
Our wedding day was the last day I felt no fear.
The beatings were mild at first, but like so many things in life they intensified.
A broken arm, a broken rib, a couple of missing teeth, and a miscarriage.
Twenty years later at the age of thirty-nine I find myself at the mercy of cancer.
You sit beside my bed and cry.
A cry for show to family, the children, our friends, and me who knows better.
You’re crying because you are missing your punching bag at least until you can find a new one.


Saying My Beads

suicide
It leaves those left behind empty
There’s usually a note explaining things, some say
What if all the note says is ‘sorry’
Sorry for what?
You leaving me?
You not getting help/
You not communicating?
The anger and frustration led me back to church
I left it because it was uncool in High School
So after Confirmation-no more church
Then my wife kills herself
October 7th-the day I went back to church
Not an important day to me, but it was for the Catholic Church
The feast day of the rosary
I remember the rosary
They were the beads you see in the hands of old women                                                                                          After church we were invited to pray the rosary
I had nothing better to do, so I stayed with only a handful of people
The old ladies gave me a plastic rosary and a little pamphlet
The pamphlet demonstrates how to pray the rosary
I was amazed at how calming and peaceful the prayers were
Since that Sunday I am never without my rosary
It doesn’t give me the answer as to why my wife killed herself
It gives me peace.
It was bound to happen.
That’s what my dead husband, Richard would say if he were here today.
“Ginny, you can’t go around telling people you have a car that Elvis once drove and not have people be jealous.
That’s just hateful and mean.
He put me away for a month
Doctor said I got bipolar
Tried to explain it to me, but I didn’t listen
For making me sleep in a room that smelled like piss
I was determined to make my husband pay.
I put arsenic in his coffee every morning.
That bastard called me mean and put me away
Hell, I’ll show him mean.


Treading Water

The waves crash ahead of me
Too many to count
Fear sets in
Lessons from childhood,
Don’t go in the water past your knees in high tide
I may drown
Wait, isn’t that why I’m here?
Behind me and ahead of me is too much to bear
I think of what I have to look forward to
More surgeries we can’t afford for our son
A spirited toddler who makes every day a chore
My husband passing out from exhaustion before the kids go to bed
No adult conversation for me tonight
A mother who doesn’t know who I am
A father who has no interest in his grandkids
Me alone with no one to hear me screaming
The water is up to my neck now
Time for one last breadth