05-17-2015, 01:33 AM
My original poem I believe was moved to Novice and is titled Senior Year. I hope its okay that I chose to post the next draft as a new thread. The poem is rather long and putting two versions together would be unbearable. I also haven't figured out how to make the "read more" option in a thread.
Thank you for any critique!!
-SH
Senior year
1.
Father breaks the shower faucet
for the third time this month.
Sirens of rage summon
the hollowed form of Mom.
He throws a wrench
at her face, or her chest
Iron on tile rings so loud, unholy
That noise becomes her wedding bells.
Mom's body slams
against a wall or a door,
The thump is dead
it mocks her.
My sister leaps on the spot,
legs still crossed
on the bedroom floor.
She is not met with iron tool
but my stare,
of both embarrassment and pity.
Fear left on vacation,
panic is barely noticeable.
Angry words, drunken slurs
are nothing less than habitual.
Imagining the firm handshake
my father once showed me,
I seize the bathroom door.
Stand toe to toe with Goliath,
I have come with neither slingshot nor stone.
He is the Tsunami that devastated Thailand.
We are precariously built structures in his path.
2.
The blue Subaru shifts,
submits under father's hand,
just as mom has done so many nights.
The car lurches backward,
a diagonal course.
Those marks will scar the grass
for years
Sunday, 4:01pm
Mom's vocal cords have seized,
her body hugs the memory
of father's driver's seat.
The warmth of blacktop
a better husband
than father could ever be.
3.
I cringe at the drone.
The officer's voice
mixes so irritatingly
with the phone's
electrical buzz.
Shallow breaths,
automated responses,
I cannot forget tonight
I open the French door
the familiar suction
seems less carthartic tonight.
My bare feet tango
missing deck boards;
Another project mom thought
could fix father.
She is a part of the blacktop now.
The sun illuminates her umber hair,
the grey strands bow toward the light.
Will I be that beautiful when
the cool March breeze is the only
thing, in this world,
willing enough to touch my skin
Thank you for any critique!!
-SH
Senior year
1.
Father breaks the shower faucet
for the third time this month.
Sirens of rage summon
the hollowed form of Mom.
He throws a wrench
at her face, or her chest
Iron on tile rings so loud, unholy
That noise becomes her wedding bells.
Mom's body slams
against a wall or a door,
The thump is dead
it mocks her.
My sister leaps on the spot,
legs still crossed
on the bedroom floor.
She is not met with iron tool
but my stare,
of both embarrassment and pity.
Fear left on vacation,
panic is barely noticeable.
Angry words, drunken slurs
are nothing less than habitual.
Imagining the firm handshake
my father once showed me,
I seize the bathroom door.
Stand toe to toe with Goliath,
I have come with neither slingshot nor stone.
He is the Tsunami that devastated Thailand.
We are precariously built structures in his path.
2.
The blue Subaru shifts,
submits under father's hand,
just as mom has done so many nights.
The car lurches backward,
a diagonal course.
Those marks will scar the grass
for years
Sunday, 4:01pm
Mom's vocal cords have seized,
her body hugs the memory
of father's driver's seat.
The warmth of blacktop
a better husband
than father could ever be.
3.
I cringe at the drone.
The officer's voice
mixes so irritatingly
with the phone's
electrical buzz.
Shallow breaths,
automated responses,
I cannot forget tonight
I open the French door
the familiar suction
seems less carthartic tonight.
My bare feet tango
missing deck boards;
Another project mom thought
could fix father.
She is a part of the blacktop now.
The sun illuminates her umber hair,
the grey strands bow toward the light.
Will I be that beautiful when
the cool March breeze is the only
thing, in this world,
willing enough to touch my skin