I was cuffed
Ankle and wrist
When it was read to me
A warrant citing injury
Domestic Violence
First degree
Another drunken felony
This time
Something different
Something worse
The unthinkable
Hard knuckles to a soft face
Followed by a mother’s yelp
Children
Call for help
I don’t want you injured or dead
Or hiding under the bed
Monsters are real
Out you go
Up up up
Over the window sill
Into the night
Run babies run
Look for blue light
But
Beyond what was read
Or whatever’s been said
I’ve no recollection
Or memory
Save one:
YOU staring up at me
With the watery eyes of a frightened Christ
Spilling over with love and condemnation
What can I say?
What am I to pray?
Head bowed low with nowhere to go
Only this:
May God damn rid me of every demon and ghost
And may He heal you, precious lamb, to the uttermost
_______________
Andrew Dabar
Andrew Dabar 
Ah, an ode to domestic violence. It’s a sad, sad thing that so many men (and some women) can’t control their anger, especially when under the influence. No coping skills. There’s a line from a song I like — When all you’ve got is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. Seems to fit here.
It’s good to see your work again, Andrew. I was beginning to wonder if you’d flown the WordPress coop. I did for a while, but came back. It suits me better than where I was.
Kathy/Kate/ Whoever 😊
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Welcome back to WordPress, Kathy/Kate/Whoever
I’ve been working on hard copy writing for a few weeks. That’s why I’ve gone missing.
My grandfather was the nicest guy in the world until he drank. My grandmother would be wearing a black eye the next day and he wouldn’t remember a thing.
I’m wondering if drinking shows a man who he really is on the inside or who he’s not. Where does such anger originate . . . anger that hurts the people you love the most? I don’t know. I’m searching for the answer to that troubling question.
The blessing and curse of writing is an intense self-examination.
I recently injured someone I love because I was stone blind drunk and, ever since, I’m wondering was THAT really me? The shadow man in the creepy picture, the demon? Maybe. Damn, I hope not.
I swear that I will drink water the rest of my life.
Hemingway once told Fitzgerald that writing should not be confessional. Whatever.
Hope all is well with you.
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My mom’s dad and her three brothers were all alcoholics. I don’t remember my grandpa, he died when I was three, but Mama had nothing good to say about him. He beat Granny when he drank. The brothers, Mama never kept up with after her and Daddy married, so I have no idea how it went for them. Both my brothers are/were well-functioning alcoholics. My oldest brother died of pancreatic cancer a few years back, and was missed by no one. He was a jerk sober, and became a bigger one drunk. The younger brother, five years my senior drinks every single day, admits to being an alcoholic. When he has a buzz on, he is more outgoing and laughs a lot. Drunk or sober, he’s a great guy with a heart of gold. When my first husband drank, lots of times he was hostile toward me, seemed to resent me (I think because I was more successful in my work than he was), and I think drinking gave his negative emotions toward me free reign.
So….in my experience, I feel drinking exacerbates what is already there. But I also believe that for some people, there is a deep-seated reason as to why they can lose control and be abusive to someone they love while under the influence, probably going back to their own childhood.
I have four sisters and the two brothers. We were all raised the same. My brothers became alcoholics (though not abusers), while my sisters and I are rare social drinkers. My mom allowed no alcohol in the house, and my dad didn’t drink anyway, so we were not exposed in the home to alcohol, or to parents who fought. In fact, I never witnessed an argument between my parents.
I’m rambling, I know…I guess what I’m trying to get across is perhaps something in your childhood is the source of your anger. Now that I’m an old lady, I can see how some bad shit that happened in my childhood shaped me and continues to shape me…seems like there is no escaping it. The best we can do is keep our wits about ourselves—that means no drinking for you—so we don’t hurt others.
And I’m doing okay for the most part…keeping on, keeping on.
Take care of yourself, Andrew, and in doing so, take care of others.
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:((((
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I saw your comment about being sad, but don’t see it now. I guess you deleted it. Sometimes, it helps to talk about things, to get it all off your chest, so to speak. If you wish, email me. I will listen.
ktworkman21@gmail.com
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Thank you, Kathy.
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