Psych Ward Visitor
In the Bin
again and I notice
someone’s playing
peek-a-boo
Someone just out of sight
Furtive, foggy, stalking us
Around the corner
near the Med Line
Waiting to see
who’s farthest gone
Patiently holding vigil
as patients tossturn
overnight ‘til dawn
He bides his time
rolling dice that are
all snake eyes
No worry, no hurry
He’s not on a schedule
Then Lonnie got a call
His wife wants a divorce
She took the kids and
he can’t do a thing but moan
Next morning
we watch him swing
as the nurses try
to cut him down
No resuscitation, he’s
blue and past blues
We all cry and then
I realize, shuddering
the stranger is gone
Death is done – for today
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Trifecta, the definition of Death as the destroyer of life, represented usually as a skeleton with a scythe. In this case, Death is a bit sneakier… but always gets his man (or woman). Also at the Poets United Poetry Pantry, where you’ll find a diverse group writing about all sorts of things!
If you are not prepared to read about sexual abuse of a child, please skip this poem. If you have nightmares of being “invaded,” this poem may help you to seek therapy. Your call. Scroll down for the poem. Peace, Amy
My Turn Tonight
Door opens, cringe-creaking
Covers pulled over my head
Keep still, stay quiet
Someone else’s turn instead?
No, I’ve drawn the unlucky card
Trembling as he turns my face
to face the unfaceable and
endure this sick disgrace
Morning, choking back chalk
Sheets dampened by sweat and the sinner
I’m pretty quiet at breakfast
But he grins like a Derby winner
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday: Dampen, Keep, Tremble
Also at my poetic haven, Poets United.
NOTES: Through therapy, I made the journey from remembering to understanding it wasn’t my fault to shrieking truth at the long-dead man in the empty chair to acceptance, and ultimately, forgiveness. Once I forgave, the whole thing became a bubble over in a corner of my mind, where I could examine it on my own terms. The journey took 15 years, and I write about these events to help others connect. May incest, child abuse, child pornography… all die away, and love prevail.
If you suspect a child you know and love is being sexually abused, whether by their father, uncle, brother, teacher… be it a boy or a girl, let that child know they can talk to you about anything at all. Tell them that no matter what, grown-ups should never make a kid keep secrets, especially secrets that scare them. You could save a young person from suicide. Trust me. I was almost there. Peace, Amy
WARNING: NOT for the squeamish. (So if you read it, you have only yourself to thank or blame.)
For those who don’t know me well enough yet, this happened to me when I was a kid. Feel free to comment, ask questions, or engage me through email if you prefer to speak privately (ask and ye shall receive my address). I’m open about this (and my mental disorders) because I want survivors to shed their unearned shame and get the help they need to sweep the monster from under the bed and LIVE their lives not as victims, but as true survivors. Peace, Amy
Too Close, No Comfort
She feels the proximity of the monster
Hears his footsteps
Smells his acrid third-martini breath
She should call out, scream
But it’s useless, no one comes to
help the child until afterwards
It’s over. She wet the bed again
but he never noticed, too busy with
her small, slack-jawed mouth
Will she ever tell the secret everyone knows,
or will she block it all out to preserve
what little sense of self remains?
Little girls have a capacity, as do little boys
to save retribution for adulthood,
when they are able to handle the history
Tears witnessed by a therapist,
perhaps meds to ease the trauma as it is relived
again and again, until the haunting stops
My dad never did the perp walk
Mom never admitted she knew
but my sweet revenge was forgiveness:
After all, he was the sick one.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday: Immobile, Proximity, Retribution
Sharp Little Pencil 