The Beating Copyright 2013 Gordon Kuhn All rights reserved. Fall’s shadows had lengthened on the wall When came an evening cooling with contempt, And dinner left uncooked upon the stove My mother, beaten, sat one floor below. Seated, bruised with a teary stare Up at the man who called her a whore As wet trails ran the length of her face To land upon the floor as if disgraced And as he hovered over his bleeding wife A noise, a sound, turned him around He turned to see me on the stair Too late, the evil deed did he share Too late, the damage killed the spell Too late, to stop the loss of innocence My childhood ended there that night Amid her blood and tears that fell. 9/20/2013
Posted on: Sun, 22 Sep 2013 01:30:52 +0000
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