[I can still feel the ground]

I can still feel the ground shaking the walls rattling as his stiff brown leather boots are picked up off the dusty old floor and plopped down again bypassing the typical muffle of the woven rug covering the uneven wood and worse- the apologetic creek of the stairway door. The railing hangs on dearly to the walls which croud 300 tottling pounds of RAGE Carefully and rarely he makes this trip and I huddle with my brother angels tucked in the farthest corner in this massive house but it is tired and offers little protection. As he reaches the top step he kicks our things out of the way a statement of what is to come a warning to our scared little asses My pulse is racing and my mind is clear, crisp and non-verbal I am at my best at his worst. "Dad!" I call to focus his anger I can hear his panting turn in my direction drunken aim "We're sorry dad, really we'll get the house clean just go back to bed I swear I'll take care of it" "You have an hour!" He slurrs Imagines himself rational and stumbles back downstairs We sneak in a few moments of pLaY of childhood as his back turns our little bodies filled with relief -for an hour anyway.In progress. I have writen this basic poem a few times and I never get the the part where he actually hits me... I cannot process that into words yet. I would be interested in other people's poems on this subject? Written March 28th, 2002 © on Mar 29 2002 01:10 PM PST   0 • 1