Musings by The Poet Loriet

Taken For Granted

She filled the animal skins
with water from the stream
carrying them back to the village.
Water, after all, was free.

He burst through the door,
sweat pouring down his temples
mixed with dust from the fields.
She offered him a drink
as he brushed past her.
"I'll just take water,"
he answered in a gravelly voice.

She watched him swallow the cool liquid
as the veins on his neck bulged.
"Woman, where's my dinner?," he bellowed
breaking her reverie as she scrambled
to scrape the contents of her labor
onto his serving tin,
but the water was always free.

He ate his fill, grabbed her roughly
and had his way with her
leaving her bruised and shaken.
She curled up in a corner
of the darkened room,
knees drawn to her chest,
crying silent tears as she hid from
him and the prying moonlight.

He didn't want to know
her thoughts and feelings,
had no intent of being tender
even though she alone brought him life,

but the water was always

free.



Lori Beal


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Taken For Granted

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