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When the Hurt Is Over

A young woman learns not to blame.

Alone I sit, on this warm summer night

Sun tucked away, not a shadow in sight

When a breeze hits my chest, and causes me to shudder

I cross my arms tightly, one over the other

This ritual comes nightly, for me and my brother

While I sit and ponder the events of the day

A farmer walks by with a bundle of hay

He says “It’s getting kind of cold, take care of yourself

Make sure to get rest in the warmth of your house”

I nod and smile at the warmth of his words

Then return to reflecting on the things that occurred

Earlier that day, my father had left

He went to the store with a huff in his breath

“Let me go, let me go” he shouted at us

“You kids know nothing about living it rough,

I’ve been down 4 years, unemployed and depressed

All you kids do is complain and cause stress”

So off to the store, the disgruntled man went

Leaving his wife and kids, cause the man was hell bent

On buying leaves and tobacco to wrap,

Slowly killing himself with each and every breath

No need for a lighter, no need for a match

Fire shot out his fingers with the sound of a snap

His hands moved fast, as fast as his feet

When he used them both on the mother to beat,

She would cry and scream, and the kids would hide

Not wanting to see their father, with rage in his eyes

He never hit the kids but his gaze was much worse

It pierced through their innocence like an unspoken curse

After his fit he would stomp, and march out the door

All the while cursing and working towards the store

And this is why I sit, aimlessly at night

It’s my way of dealing with the trauma and fright

I don’t try to place blame, I really don’t bother

I know these are all things he learned from his father

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When the Hurt Is Over
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