Domestic

...”I’m sorry” said the moon to the sky, when it removed the sun from its brilliant blue face…

“I’m sorry”, she said, as she turned away in the midst of her grief. 
Grief for the pain she lost, buried shallow, in her heart.  The scars tell the tale of a violent action upon her, from a lover, long ago, and far to close.  Present came and left; and there was nothing she could do.  But cry.  Cry his name in anger, rage, hate, love, loneliness, despair, H U R T.  Her body shows the story of a lover enraged.  Snarling, animal expressions of love.  A love turned to obsession, to fear, to losing, to resentment, to H A T E.

Dad used to snarl at mom.  When mom decided not to cook diner.  Just like everyone else, Mom needed a break.  And Dad didn’t understand.  ”I am the man of this house!”  Dad shouted, before placing his loving hands on mom.  Striking mom down with a violence so intimate, so sincere.  That the only witnesses were their offspring.  

Guilt and the guilty; for Dad’s actions justified by Dad’s reasoning.  ”You did this to yourself”, Dad said, as he pointed his index finger at Mom.  Not noticing; that silently, subtlety the remaining three pointed right back at him.

Dad’s legacy, the old man’s lasting mark on this earth; witnessed a childhood innocence lost, and forgiven.  Forsaken to love; and the hands that binds them to hate.  Together, in a perfect recipe of deception.  Of twisted emotions of uncontrollable passion misdirected; in a direction that Dad can only justify.  

He snarls, just like Dad did.  But much more sinister; more sincere in his fear. Fear of being deceived, of being alone.  But she never could understand; for he hated Dad.  And hated what Dad did to Mom.  And yet, the old mans destiny is embedded in him; in his soul, deep in his heart.  

Anger, rage, hate, confused for love, passion, and respect.  A selfish man with selfish needs of respect, twisted.  For all the good in this world was erased with actions that cannot be yielded, nor controlled.  

But, she is strong.  Her will is not like that of Mom.  Mom was frail from the beginning.  She faced him, not backing down.  She had right on her side.  Hiding behind her like a child, too scared to move.  Too frighten to budge.  She faced him with all the courage she can muster.  

”What are you going to do, hit me?!”  He raised his hand and couldn’t.  She saw right through him, his cowardice, his cheap manhood, and a forgotten humanity.  She turned away and he acted.  Ever the opportunist, he struck her back and forth.  Not ending, until he was wasted in wrath.  

Breathless from the struggle, he emerged with his falsified truth, and said, “You brought this on to yourself!”. She reached for her purse, fearing for her life, she took out the equalizer. 

”F**k you!” She shouted.   

The blast shattered the silence of the night, tearing a hole in the present.  And from her hand to his heart, killed the beast she called Love.   

He crumbled into her arms.  Crying, dying, and whispered “I’m sorry.”  She embraced his fleeting body.  

She sat in the silence of the night, looking at his pieces scattered among the broken glass and hearts.  Watching time struggle to mend it's wounds.

...”I’m sorry” said the moon to the sky, when it removed the sun from its brilliant blue face…