Battle Scars

Abruptly jarred from peaceful sleep,

her heart starts to race.

Outside her bedroom door

their loud voices warp into vicious screams.

Pulling the blankets over her head

she braces for another night of terror.

Her fists clenched, eyes squeezed tight,

trying to keep out the sounds.

Louder and louder, the battle continues.

Deeper and deeper she hides in her fortress,

praying for an expeditious surrender.

Imagining the worst as the doors slam

and the walls thump and the words fly

back and forth like poisoned darts.

The warriors are skillful,

they know their marks well.

Throughout the night, the carnage continues,

opening new wounds,

reopening old wounds.

Still hiding,

she recoils and shudders and squeezes her eyes even tighter,

longing to be somewhere else, pretending to be someone else,

her pillow drenched with tears.

Eventually, the frightening cries diminish–

empty promises echo outside her door.

For now the chaos has ended.

The silence burns her ears,

once again she remembers to breathe.

Morning arrives too soon.

She dares to examine

the invisible scars

inflicted upon her heart.

She’s relieved to have endured

one more painful night.

One more agonizing nightmare.

 

Shelli Carlisle © 2012

 

Tagged domestic abuse, fighting, parents, poetry, Shelli Carlisle