Musings by The Poet Loriet
Household Hell (A Triptych)
I.
One-thirty a.m. has become
the standard time
you return from the bars.
I listen for the sound
of the garage door,
so I can sleep,
knowing you're safe.
You go to bed
in your downstairs
apartment,
and I'm secure,
locked in our bedroom.
We avoid each other
getting our morning coffee.
I go to work,
you walk the dog.
Evenings, we stagger
our dinner times,
muddle through kids
bedtime routines,
then you leave.
But tonight...
was different.
I faked a headache,
going to lay down
to avoid dinner with you.
You came and sat
at my bedside,
stroking my hair
as I buried my head
in my pillow
so you wouldn't
see my tears.
"Who will take care of you?,"
you asked and
I couldn't answer.
You finally left me
alone to cry.
II.
Two a.m.
I looked up at
the blurry red numbers
on the digital clock
as I registered
the sound of knocking.
I was petrified,
frozen in bed
until I heard you
rummaging through drawers,
knowing you were looking
for something
to pick the lock.
I jumped out of bed
and opened the door.
You came in,
"Tell your lawyer
I still love you."
You took me
in your arms
and I tensed up,
shaking and crying,
breaking away
to curl up on the bed.
You followed me,
touching me,
repeating our marriage vows
as I sobbed.
"I want to sleep in my bed
with you one more time,
before you're my ex-wife."
"No," I choked,
"This is a really bad idea."
You smelled
like smoke and liquor
and fear.
I didn't know
what to expect
and prayed
that you would leave.
You just stood there
in your underwear
leaning on the doorframe
and giving me
the saddest, eeriest look.
I cried so hard that
I couldn't breathe.
III.
Three a.m.
Strange sounds,
hysterical sobbing,
came from downstairs.
I was too scared to move
or make any noise.
I curled up
in fetal position
on the cold tile
bathroom floor,
ear to the downstairs vent,
praying you'd stop.
Your shower
smelled like you--
your soap, cologne,
aftershave.
It nauseated me,
saddened me as
my stomach
tightened in a knot.
I felt naked
as I lay there
shaking.
Next,
the sound of your
singing--
I don't know
what song,
but the music
both comforted
and confused
me.
Three-thirty a.m.--
Silence.
I laid on my back,
staring at the ceiling,
forgetting how
to feel.
Lori Beal
One-thirty a.m. has become
the standard time
you return from the bars.
I listen for the sound
of the garage door,
so I can sleep,
knowing you're safe.
You go to bed
in your downstairs
apartment,
and I'm secure,
locked in our bedroom.
We avoid each other
getting our morning coffee.
I go to work,
you walk the dog.
Evenings, we stagger
our dinner times,
muddle through kids
bedtime routines,
then you leave.
But tonight...
was different.
I faked a headache,
going to lay down
to avoid dinner with you.
You came and sat
at my bedside,
stroking my hair
as I buried my head
in my pillow
so you wouldn't
see my tears.
"Who will take care of you?,"
you asked and
I couldn't answer.
You finally left me
alone to cry.
II.
Two a.m.
I looked up at
the blurry red numbers
on the digital clock
as I registered
the sound of knocking.
I was petrified,
frozen in bed
until I heard you
rummaging through drawers,
knowing you were looking
for something
to pick the lock.
I jumped out of bed
and opened the door.
You came in,
"Tell your lawyer
I still love you."
You took me
in your arms
and I tensed up,
shaking and crying,
breaking away
to curl up on the bed.
You followed me,
touching me,
repeating our marriage vows
as I sobbed.
"I want to sleep in my bed
with you one more time,
before you're my ex-wife."
"No," I choked,
"This is a really bad idea."
You smelled
like smoke and liquor
and fear.
I didn't know
what to expect
and prayed
that you would leave.
You just stood there
in your underwear
leaning on the doorframe
and giving me
the saddest, eeriest look.
I cried so hard that
I couldn't breathe.
III.
Three a.m.
Strange sounds,
hysterical sobbing,
came from downstairs.
I was too scared to move
or make any noise.
I curled up
in fetal position
on the cold tile
bathroom floor,
ear to the downstairs vent,
praying you'd stop.
Your shower
smelled like you--
your soap, cologne,
aftershave.
It nauseated me,
saddened me as
my stomach
tightened in a knot.
I felt naked
as I lay there
shaking.
Next,
the sound of your
singing--
I don't know
what song,
but the music
both comforted
and confused
me.
Three-thirty a.m.--
Silence.
I laid on my back,
staring at the ceiling,
forgetting how
to feel.
Lori Beal
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Household Hell (A Triptych)
Household Hell (A Triptych)
