My First Broken Poem by Shirley Anne Alexander

I carry a small black pouch in my heart.

Baggage packed in the seventies

is now carefully buried;

hidden in smiles and laughter

to be opened and sorted

in the darkness of winter nights.



I slept through nine years of my life;

slept walking, talking, eating,

going through the movements;

hiding in shadows of drawn drapes,

and covers of heavy clothing;

afraid of sharp corners and quick eyes;



nine years of fever nights,

waiting stone still for breathing sounds

from the hard side of the bed;



waiting to move numbly

through my own dark house,

frantic hands trembling

as I emptied the chambers

of his hidden guns.



And, that is why

I cannot trust.


(©2007)