Shirley Alexander

(12-05-1953 / Somewhere under heaven, Georgia, USA)

My First Broken


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)

Submitted: Thursday, January 29, 2009
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  • Laurie Hill (1/29/2009 8:23:00 PM)

    made a mistake on my earlier comment on this poem.......I left out the word ''not''...It was meant to read..I hope this is a poem and ''not'' an experience.
    Excellent poetry Shirley........10 (Report) Reply

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