Dry-Fire

She sits, emotionally bland,
Speaking mechanically;
Her right jaw, slightly misaligned,
From calcifications of former fractures;
And he is left-handed.
Lime-green circles about her
Distant, blue eyes indicate
That she has pleased him
This past week.
She believes that she
Is Improving, is better;
As the distance between
The necessary corrections
Is elongating, and she doesn’t
Nap as often.
He seems to love her more;
And frequently resorts
To audible amendments,
Or is too fatigued, himself,
To properly intervene
In her enlightenment.

She inhales, fidgets, re-adjusts,
To breathe without pain;
Calmly expressing accolades for
The strength, perseverance,
Of her son who doesn’t fail;
But weeps, in anonymity,
For her daughter who must
Have inherited her propensity
Toward weakness, malfunction.
Perhaps, over time,
He will see fit to guide
Their daughter with
Identical acts of love;
And she will be well.

She stares out the window,
Toward the windswept willow;
Catatonic, citing that
Past years, learning years,
Were resonating like the
Dry-fire echo of the
Empty Chamber in a game
Of Russian-Roulette.
The sound, repeated and
Sustained in dull memory;
The clicks that fed
The ugly tomorrows;
But her eyes sparkle as
She admits to a yearning,
For the strike of the pin
To fresh primer;
And she may only regret
That she will not hear
The Sound
Heralding her freedom.





Copyright 2010, Fegger (Thorn of the Rose)

A brilliant, devastating (self?) portrait.

Prince--thank you for the comment.

Here, I am only an empathetic, concerned witness.

As powerful an image of domestic abuse as one is likely to come across. Amazing on so many levels.

H

This poem knocked my socks off! Within the first lines one knew the journey they were being taken on....It's implications are terrifying.

Well done
Distant, blue eyes indicate
That she has pleased him
This past week.
She believes that she

You could cut out the 'thats' and retain its powerful edge

Delta---This poem represents the only (first) draft. I had entertained the thought of editing 'that', 'Were' (resonating), 'The' (clicks), etc.--but I didn't want to touch them because I wanted the text to mirror the mechanical/catatonic state of the character---wanted the precise sense of what I was feeling to be transposed onto the reader. I have also thought of building a bit of a prose piece around this narrative as it seems to have a sustained, tense vision for me. We'll see on that venture. Thank you.