Those Three Little Words |
| by Pollyanna Puckett |
The aging woman sits in her chair
It is placed by the window and next to the clock
Her image has changed. The color of gray lives on every hair
After 3, she watches the children as she sits in her chair and rocks
The night was exactly 25 years ago
She was sitting at the table awaiting the man of her dreams
He approached her with a smile that was just slightly so
Her heart was pounding like that of a teen girl when she gleams
She then stood to smother her man with a kiss
By this he was surpassingly annoyed
but was overruled by her feelings of bliss
Once their lips met, the kiss was quickly null and void
She pulled away, ignoring the emptiness she had just kissed
She told him the good news of a baby in her womb
That was when his open hand became a fist
he beat her so bad, it made her head boom
For nearly an hour, she was his punching bag
After it all happened, he grabbed his coat and went to the bar
It was then that she stumbled to the bathroom and started to gag
She wanted to leave, but that S. O. B. had taken the car
Her stingy, salty tears, slid down her smooth, steamy cheeks
It took so long for her to understand what had just occurred
Though she was scared, her anger was climbing to its peeks
She will never forgive that scum of a man for his reaction to what he had heard
25 years later, she is still filled with rage
That night she lost her baby from her husband’s terrorist ways
Two days after the beating, she escaped from that animal cage
But months after, she was still in a dramatized phase
Her perpetual pain has been pricking her like a thorn
It is a pain that can never be surpassed
To be a mother to a baby that died unborn
To bear this pain is worse than being gassed
She has never been remarried
She never even gave it a thought
To the heavens is where her baby was carried
It wouldn’t be there if her husband hadn’t fought
She never loved another man
She is immune to doing so
It began when she was hit by his hand
With her baby is where she would rather go
And that is why, on this 14th day of May, that she rocks away
in her chair and thinks about that day.
That day that contained so much of her pain, but promises herself,
in a very blunt way, of those three little words to never again say.
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(c) 1999 Pollyanna Puckett Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.
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