Saturday, May 20, 2006

Going Back

There was no time to gather up clothes or toys
There were never many of either anyway

when we left

Many times there was a pistol
Usually there were bruises
Often it was night
Once in a storm

It was chaos when we left
from the outside looking in
but we knew our cues

time to go

Right after the fists
just before the gunshots
during the screaming

then we left

Mostly to Tommie’s house
Sometimes to Sherry’s house
Once to Doris Sartain’s house
in a storm

after we left

Morning would come
Breakfast was had
Coffee was poured
Nothing was said
The ground would dry up
Daddy would show up

we'd go back

Cross my fingers
pray to God
plead to stay
come the day
we’d go back

There was no time to gather up joy or hope
There was never much of either anyway.


  1. Gonna ask you about this one when I see you in person. I like the set off "when we left" after the first stanza very much. Like the way it hangs out there, making your pause.

  2. Cynthia, this one has a nice rhythm to it. I can feel the tension. I wonder if one of the most harmful/painful things was that "nothing was said".

    It sounds like you are far away from that place now...I certainly hope so.

  3. Anonymous12:32 AM

    Good work, painful content.

  4. Anonymous1:04 AM

    I REALLY like this one.

  5. I am still amazed that beautiful things can be made of harmful, painful, ugly things. This is a beautiful poem

  6. Anonymous6:50 PM

    A glimpse into the tragedies of life. Well written. *hug*


  7. I admire the measured quality of detachment in this piece. The story is said -- beautifully laid out -- without the 'voice' breaking. And the impact is all the more felt. ^_^ Thank you for sharing this. Be blessed.

  8. Anonymous2:51 AM

    This is a most incredible poem Cynthia.
    You made me follow you each step of the way. I had no will of my own. I can not help but wonder how many times while you were writing this poem did you stop and stare, lose yourself in that far away place and then come back?


Feel free to critique the poetry. I employ a sophisticated thick hide technology.