Monday 29 April 2013

Too Young the Witness


I remember too well,
the smell of the fresh cut grass,
the flickering of the sunlight
as it moves behind the treetops,
the black roof tiles hot under my bare feet,
the beat of my heart—boom, boom.

I was too small to be noticed,
too quiet too be heard
but I eavesdropped from above.
Little words, little movements
didn’t turn my gaze from the sun
as she smiled down on me,
lifting me towards her bosom
and warming me in her arms.

Until clouds parted us and the sky turned gray.
Suddenly cold, suddenly noticing
the mood in the air had changed.
From below me I heard their words
turn loud and violent,
their movements abrupt and irate,
their faces from love to hate,
like a hammer against glass as it breaks—boom, boom.

My eyes dilated at the sight.
I stumbled as I reversed my steps,
diving back through the window I came.
I ran to my bed, pulled the covers up
and squeezed my eyelids closed.
Disappear, disappear stupid memory,
but the image replayed again and again
like a broken movie projector in my mind,
with the sound echoing in my ears—boom, boom.

The grip of his fist,
the red in her eyes,
the fire igniting rage.
Too soon the victor, who held the rod,
put the other in their grave.
Haunting me the rest of my days.
Boom, boom.