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By Heather Bretschneider

 

I remember the things you’d say and do

I remember when the we of us was new

Talking about dreams and hopes and views

I believed what you said but

I don’t trust anyone

Like that anymore

It took five years before we could see the smears

blears on the placid glass breakfront of your hate

I thought it was for me

but I knew it was for you

it was for two and now I’m screwed to

the wall I took the fall when

your fists pounded drowned

the sound out

of the screaming beat against

the panes of my pains

beat

torrents on my skull

temples

cheeks

Every time my feet kicked out they

found you but your fists

found me first found my face

The whiskey behind us and no one could find us

in the camper

in the driveway

of the house

of our friend

I didn’t know it was over

because the throbbing felt like pounding

after you’d gone

You’d walked a mile or more before

I sat up

then stood up and went in

to our friend who was not surprised

she gave me a ride home

to where you were already sleeping

I spread out on the floor not

washing off blood

too scared to make noise

after a while you got up and

sat in the chair

I could feel you leaning over me

but I couldn’t see

from either eye

I couldn’t sleep or lie comfortably

I thought my jaw was broken and when

you asked how I was it was only a token

Did you know when you left me there if I was alive?

So many things broken and not one of them bone

And I will never forget you.