pressed into the corner
of the closet
hidden behind long
silky party dresses
that smelled of mommy, the
darkness wrapped it's arms
around me like a blanket

silent tears streaming
hotter than the welts
freshly belted into my flesh.
they would heal,
the welts,
faster than my heart,
looking back

His words ringing in my ears
"I'll give you something to cry about";
and more than forty years later,
blind and suffering dementia,
there are days he still does
give me something
to cry about

paranoid dementia
attacks with wicked claw
those who dare venture
into that grim and black
forest never knowing
when, but hoping sunlight will
peek through the clouds

oddly fond memories,
amidst the demented shrieking,
of long silky dresses and
tiny fingers tracing rhinestones
on pretty high heeled shoes
and I long for those comforts
but they are gone.

gone. swept into yesterday
like their marriage,
and his health, and his sight
and his mind and only
darkness remains
to comfort
still silent tears

but shh, for yesterday whispers
now of butterfly barrettes pinned
by clumsy daddy hands, warm rides on
a cold winter day and daddy hugs
with whiskered tickles and giggles.
sleep. sleep. tomorrow, I will
make him pancakes.