semi-permanent

9 . I pray for release

I sit alone at the table, forsaken,

swallowing tears in place of sustenance

The empty chairs beside me ache

I do not know which to lean to.

I move like the sun has not yet risen,

freezing at every syllable that spews from their lips

The front door slams quietly

I feel how that spot on the sofa festers; it is familiar

I flinch at every creak of the leather,

remembering the rough, frightening sounds of their battle

He screamed about the big light, she said it never happened

Sitting on my bedroom floor, rigid, paralyzed,

I whispered their lines and got them right

The sinking feeling in my stomach will not disperse

Is it wrong to want the things I do?

-

rm