I Hear You

A bedtime poem

Photo by Caleb Woods on Unsplash

This is a poem about childhood physical abuse. Please skip if this would be too painful for you and know that I hold you in my heart.

I’m listening
for your sneaky footsteps
You’re here
but which ‘you’?

The tired, sweaty, mellow you
shifting to your motorcycle graveyard?
The weary, greasy, angry you
pulling me from my Strawberry Shortcake dreams
to beat some Jesus into me
like your wife told you to?

Who is coming home?
Who is here?

I’m listening

You brought a cat home from your factory once
That was a good day

I’ve learned that a cat at the end of the day
is a good thing

Mostly you bring home silence
maybe you’re here,
maybe you’re not

Sometimes a roar
because we used all the ice

I’ve learned that ice trays are cheap

I’m listening
I’m on alert

I know the sound of our TV clicker
Clack
Ca-chunk
Clack

and the scrape of your paddle
sliding out from the bathroom cabinet

I know the sound of the Golden Girls' theme song
Shh…

And the crack of a board
on my tender skin

I’m listening for you
Who is home?

Was it me you were mad at?
Your little green-eyed blondie?
Your wife for not knowing how to manage the sun?

The world?

I’m listening

I hear you
Do you hear me?
Do you hear ‘you’?

I’ve learned that madness is contagious

This is in response to Ravyne Hawke’s weekly writing prompt in Promptly Written… “alert or dormant” Thank you, Ravyne!