An Angel's Face

Her eyes look at me when she thinks I don’t see

The beams of hatred feel like shards of glass plunging into me

Her words cut my skin like tiny knives

She waits for my reaction; waiting to see me run

I have learned to bite my tongue; many times bleeding

The hurt inside is terrible; the years have done nothing to lessen

My protection has been the promise forced at a death

A death that should have released her but instead bound her

Her retaliation was then her words used against those I love

Forcing the abandonment she wants yet it only fueled that hate

She has put scars on my emotions; my psyche

I carry physical scars on my scalp and face-no one knows

Yet I can forgive and even forget

There are times where she is kind; I want to love her

Then she has to spoil it by saying

It’s her house and she hates me as she points to the door

MSM©Oct 2014

Adieu

The sweetness of the end of winter

Just before spring was about to bud

That was when we met-you and I

Mildly flirting with one another

Intensified with ease-more than we realized

Our emotions took flight on the wings of love

Fanciful thoughts-lust filled evenings

That was such a wonderful time we had

Walks on the beach-even if it was cold

It was worth it as we warmed each other up

Over time our love deepened inside of us

Yet somehow we started to topple

Our communications faltered

Misunderstandings grew-tempers flared

We made up time and time again

Slowly we sank into a comfort zone

Lovers yet not-the carnal desire gone

We went deeper than lovers

We became true friends

Soul mates not twin flames

Letting go and saying good bye

The sadness is incredible-painful

It hits you between the eyes

When finally a truth is unveiled

Forcing you to finally say-adieu

© 2010 8 september/cb

Regrets

The light filtered through the bay windows as I cleaned the table.  It was a small breakfast table-the kind which allowed for intimacy.  It was centered in the garden room where the early morning light was the best.  I can still hear the clink of the glassware and the silver as the table was set.  It seated four, a round glass table top with beveled edges and four English antique chairs. 

Looking at these chairs sure brought back a flood of memories.  My daughter had fallen backwards on one-the back of the chair saving her head and a trip to the emergency room.  Mom could only yell about how expensive the chair was.  She was still yelling when my 2 year old offered up her savings-at the time- two pennies.   Tears welled up in my eyes at the memory.  The look on her face was just heart-breaking as tears rolled down her small face.  Still Mom yelled about the cost of repair as she looked at her grand-daughter’s welling eyes.  I remember holding her small body and just giving my Mother a look of incredibility.   That memory still burns with pain.  How can she be so inconsiderate-so mean!

Shaking my head loose from the past, I continued to clean the table, moving the antique lace runner where a glass red apple rested-another memory intruded.  Dad was laughing at some stupid joke he made-his laughter bouncing off the high ceiling.  I smiled at that as I remember that conversation.  We were arguing about how the ceiling was going to be fixed.  I knew we needed to get someone younger to climb but no-he insisted on doing the work himself.  He had crawled into the small attic-really more like a crawlspace-and became stuck!  I was laughing so hard and so was he until we realized that if we could not get him unstuck-the fire department would!  Then the ceiling really would have a huge hole!  Finally the laughter stopped as he started to pass out-it was hot that day and the space he was in did not have air-conditioning.  He finally managed to get himself loose and crawl out.  He looked a mess!  Our eyes met and all we could do was laugh our heads off.  Smiling to myself-it was one of those things that you really had to be there for.  It was a memory shared only between Dad and me.   

I wish Mom could have been there-maybe she would not be so bitter now.  He was so different with me.  Well-maybe that was the problem between her and me.

I sat down for a moment in his chair-funny how it will always be his chair.   Before me flashed my last conversation with my mother as we shared a meal.  It ended badly that day.  She was really on a roll.  As much as I tried to be cordial-nothing satisfied her.  I guess the last trigger was when I shared a religious observation-one she did not agree with-which brought forth that last tirade.   She just did not want to be stopped.  Her words just gather speed.  Like a rock gathering moss as it rolls downhill-they became filled with vile and hate.  Her face contorted into someone I did not know.  Truth be known-I really did not know her.  I tried to understand her but she was never easy.  She was a riddle to me.  Her verbal attack continued.  She just let it out on the only person there-me.  She did not know I knew how her marriage started-how many times she would berate Dad.  She did not know of my silent tears when he was close to his end-how I heard her cruelty with him.  She called me irresponsible and immoral-I knew it was not true. I took it-painful stab after painful stab-I took it all.  She wanted to see me break-I did not give her the satisfaction.

The next day she did not wake at her usual hour.  Her bedroom door remained closed.  Finally I entered after not receiving any answer to my knock.  I found her in the bathroom-her final end was one of nature’s call-not in a graceful situation.   I cleaned her body up and made sure she was presentable.  Even in death, I could not let her be seen in a bad light.  Her eyes were now in their grey color-the color she gets when she is tired.  Her skin was now cold-rigor had set in. 

I sat with her until the paramedics arrived to pronounce her dead.  As per her wishes-her body was taken directly to the mortuary and then to the crematorium.  She did not want any mourners.  She died alone-as she always verbalized.  I wonder if she regretted that decision at all.  I wonder if she ever found peace.  In the end, it was dark for her.  She never saw another sunrise. 

A single tear rolls down my face as regrets rack my body.  Closing my eyes I see her before me-only this time smiling and happy.  I guess I have my answer to my question about her.  Beside her is Dad-lovingly holding her hand-she was now at peace as her meanness had disappeared. I guess what she needed was his love to herself.  Even her children were a challenge.  They both walk away-leaving me alone.  Opening my eyes, I finish with the cleaning.

I take one last look around at the home I have known all my life.  What few regrets I have had in my life-I leave them here.  The house is now a mausoleum of memories.  Leaving the keys in the front foyer, I leave the house to start my own life away from here.  The realtor will be here soon enough. 

© 2010 6 august/cb