Chair Propped Against Neutrality

Creative Commons ~ Erik Alfredo

She listened to the secrets

plastered inside the walls

as if she was merely

a chair propped against neutrality.

She whispered, “It was not my fault,”

to the demons stirring her memory,

yet they continued to hiss and accuse.

Ungreased hinges and creaking floor

had announced evil’s passage

each night of a thousand hours,

but she had buried her head

in the feather down of pretense’s pillow

and spoke not a word.

She excused her husband’s nightly visits

to his step daughter’s bed as merely comfort

for a child who cried out from nightmares.

There were no questions when the sun rose,

only deaf ears and blind eyes.

Breakfast was served with toast and silence.

There came the day when Pandora’s lid

was torn away by a school room confession.

Her daughter exposed the truth of nighttime lies

and denial became no defense.

The secrets that now whisper are those

of another girl child whose lips can never speak.

She took her pain into the grave and left a note

that simply said, “Mother go to hell.”

©Susie Clevenger 2012
dVerse Poets Pub ~ Open Link Night Week ~ 64

I understand the pain of childhood sexual abuse too well. I was a victim.

This poem is not about my experience, but painfully this scenario

has happened too often. I have included some resources for help for 

those who are or have been victims.

RAINN

Adult Survivors