For Creativity Challenge Day 26: Threat
Was married to an abusive
alcoholic bully, only slowly
coming to comprehend risk
running through my reality.
Came home from attending
school, to find him ensconced
in soft rocker, in only his skivvies,
with our four children, on
floor, fear and tears, in their eyes,
as he told them, that none
of them could move, until
at least one of them agreed
that I was a lousy mother,
never there for them, incapable
of love on any level.
I stood up slowly, and calmly
said, “I’m done now,” before
leaving to go into our bedroom.
Changed my clothes and sat
cross-legged on the bed,
meditating on those words
I had just spoken.
Later, he stepped into the room,
told me how he’d been talking
to a friend at work, about how
women, when they get a bit
older, maybe start “changing”,
often getting strange ideas, like
going to college, or getting
a job (I was 38 at the time).
He went on to say that my
going to school was nothing
more than a foolish idea, caused
by some hormonal imbalance
of early menopause. And that,
if I didn’t quit now, it would
probably mean the end
of our marriage.
Body trembling, trying to suppress
laughter singing through blood
stream, I told him that I too
had a conversation with a friend
that very morning. An intelligent
man, also a non-trad student, who
had softly asked me some questions
about that same marriage. After
listening to my honest answers,
he’d leaned across the coffee shop
table where we sat, grasped my hand,
and said, “Well, if the idiot ever
comes home and tells you it’s all
your fault because you’re menopausal,
“Run, like hell, Elizabeth, just run.”
The abusive bully had finally
made a promise I could
keep. The Orange man often
reminds me of him. Making
promises he has no intention
of keeping, threatening any
who might restrict, or disagree,
with his overly inflated ego.
Constantly lying about those
who might oppose his sleight-
of-hand notion of “progress.”
Building a ‘wall’ with the faces
of his own children, while blaming
others for his never to be mentioned
Perhaps, its time, to start laughing
when he speaks?
Elizabeth Crawford 12/16/2016
Notes: My apologies for the length. This is not so much a poem, but a vividly recalled memory, written down in a sort of short-hand form. It charged forward with the word threat, and was far too obvious not to.