This next DVAM guest blogger has contributed such compelling insight from a child’s perspective. Shelia Cooper is a poet who was deeply affected by domestic violence as a child.
I hope Shelia’s work will provide empathy in the hearts and minds of parents involved in a domestic violence situation.
Insanity
It came howling
in the wee hours of the morning.
Slurred screams from Jack Daniels,
but lasting longer than the pint.
Davenport cushions strewn across the floor,
the small children gathered
around to watch the match.
Loving opponents, in white underwear
One hovering in the corner, moving her lips,
Please God, No in silent prayer.
The other opponent stands boldly
in the center of the room,
ready to silence the ringing bell
pounding in his head.
Past time to begin.
Screaming obscenities, he pulls
his opponent out. Two jabs
and an uppercut, she falls to the floor,
He stays on his toes, laughing, taunting,
dancing. She cowers, but there is no
referee to do the count.
The spectators watch as he pulls her up,
Round after round, throwing
punch after punch until he is spent,
sweat beading on his brow, muscles glistening,
his knuckles crimson.
His opponent’s body a violent purple,
crimson leaking from her lips and nose.
The oldest girl nurses her mother,
while the youngest purges her supper.
The father rests in his corner,
while the boys analyze the bout.
The boys push and shove the girls
off to their room. One found in the corner
a souvenir: his mother’s right canine tooth.
***********************************************************************
Fairytales
As always, we watch.
We whisper, we mustn’t wake him.
Her eye is still purple, a little less black.
We know this is a good sign.
She whispers, we mustn’t wake him.
We read fairytales and make up new endings.
We know this is a good sign.
If princes don’t exist, what is there to miss?
We read fairytales and make up new endings.
Her smile hides her missing teeth.
Princes don’t exist, so what is there to miss?
We pretend father is gone, but he’s only asleep.
Her smile hides her missing teeth.
We ring around the rosy, pockets full of posies.
We pretend he is gone, knowing he’s only asleep.
Then, ashes, ashes we all fall down.
We ring around the rosy, pockets full of posies.
Too loud, the subjects are punished.
And ashes, ashes, they all fall down.
The king has risen, still wearing his crown.
Shelia taught English for seven years at Bennett College and currently teaches at North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University in Greensboro, North Carolina. Her poetry has most recently appeared in the anthology, Like a Girl: Perspectives on Feminine Identity. She resides in Burlington, NC with her husband and daughter.
