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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