I Love Her Still

Damp backdrop to horrific scene
Of mangled metal reflecting
askew beams from the opposition.
He fumbles buckle
finding it jammed,
he retrieves the knife from his pants.
Willing it to slash with speed,
it can only saw and fray
the belt meant to keep him safe.
A hiss is broken with the cry
of scared child tucked inside
the car seat safely out of reach.
“Why did it have to be tonight?” he thinks
as a siren marks the approaching end.
Tugging at his prison
with frantic urge to flee,
“They will not find her,”
he declares as stumbling neurons
rehearse the plan.
She left. She’s gone.
She abandoned us.
The words he will recite
and instill hatred at her
while constructing pity at their plight.
She left. She’s gone.
She’s out of sight
until they find trace blood,
a hair, an ankled shoe.
The jury tallies the score
as he fights for sympathy.
She left. She’s gone.
“Fell into a bottle every chance she got
I truly miss her. We love her still.”
A nod. A frown. A shaking head.
The score too close to predict.
So, he weaves his tale of woe
and pleads parental neglect.
“She left. She’s gone.
We’ll manage okay.
We’ll pick up the pieces.
Just find the man who did this,”
he cries with contorted face.
She left. She’s gone.
“I love her still.”




Poetry Survivor: Free, trigger 16