Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.246
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
It could have been a beautiful memory to write down

Walking hand in hand with mama

My long brown french pleats  bouncing in the wind 

My new red plastic boots ready to be shown.


Reaching high upon my tiptoes ...

I swung  the large french brass knob  back and forth

until  my short chubby sweet  nonna opened the door.

As soon as I saw her, my hazel eyes changed

 into different shades of caramel swirl.

I  am her first born niece,  and her little girl.


It could have been a beautiful  memory to write down

Running up those marbled  tiles , gazing through the hallway 

 at the two dark giant iron knights . How I wish I could have been

like them , just as brave  and wise.


In the  busy kitchen I hugged nonna over and over again

I loved how her  apple  and cinnamon  pies wafted ,filling Saturdays 'air.

I loved the teaspoon sounds , as the sugar in the coffee cup was stirred

It was a symphony , blissful  music to my ear.



Next to mama ,in the dining room , on a padded  orange rexine chair I sat

Playing snakes and ladders whilst I heard them chat.


It could have been a beautiful memory to write down

If I had not  followed uncle Bob  that afternoon

Along the long corridor we walked , to his room 

At the far end, Inside, I was promised  a delightful  surprise.  


The red velvet  curtains He shut down.  All  turned dark !

 The squeaky  old  door  slammed . I could  listen

 to the fast rapid beating of his vacant heart.



I could feel him getting close , too close .




I could smell his stinking breath and feel his  hand

It slipped hungrily , unbuttoning my innocence and  collar shirt.


He pushed me down on my knees, head and face both pressed.

My lollipop lips  too close to sour scents ,  I would never  forget. 


Everynight  cold in my bed , I scream -  Regret...

I do not want to remember, yet how can I forget


It could have been a beautiful memory to write down

But all I have is a blank page. 

In that house of nonna where  once I laughed and played 

All there is  are secrets , insecurity, my shadow  and its shame.





Fiction poem inspired by Becca's contest against Child Abuse...

Not for the contest,  but thanks for the inspiration.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required