I learned to say the word shit in a nursery rhyme my dad would always say to me even before I knew it was wrong. And I guess it wasn’t wrong - because if Dad said it, then I could say it.

I can’t remember what it was that I touched. But the song is etched in my head, occasionally bringing me joy, but I could never understand why I got shushed when I said shit. It rhymed with six, and it was dad’s, so what’s the big deal?

“One, two, that’s da’y’s shoe. Three foe, that’s da’y’s note. Five, six, that’s da’y’s shit. Seven, eight, that’s da’y’s plate. Nine, ten, don’t touch it again.”

Nowadays, I’m taller than him. I can’t fit his shoes anymore. We don’t watch tv, because we’re so busy arguing about why we don’t spend time together. We are poor, so what we have is shitty and cheap and not worth taking anyways. He doesn’t finish his meals, and I’m not as hungry as before myself.

But I don’t wanna have to hug you goodbye.

Part One:  Meditation

Okay, I'm going to sit here in complete silence, close my eyes and relax. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in...what's that smell? Did the dog pee on the carpet again? Ugh, I thought she was over that. I gotta to find it and try out the new carpet spot remover. Wait, did I remember to buy it last time I went to Target? Oh yeah, I did. I wanted to try that new brand, the one I read about in a magazine. Got good reviews from people who actually used it. I'll never buy a new brand without someone saying it worked. Except for that time my sister told me that miracle scrubbing sponge was truly a miracle. That thing didn't do crap for my shower stall door. Just as much lime deposit as when I started. Or is it Lyme, like the disease? What IS lime deposit, anyway? Where does it come from? Soap? Shampoo? The water? If it's the water, why isn't there lime/Lyme build-up in my sink? Or my in my washing machine? Oh crap, I have to fold the load of laundry in the dryer before it gets all wrinkled.

Part Two:  Two Minutes Later....

...............................................................................................................................................................(folding laundry).........................................................................................

..........................................................................................

She crept into my room last night, her bare feet making only the slightest sound on the wood floor. As she approached the bed, I lifted the covers up for her like I did every time, and she slid under them, curling up against me. Even in the darkness I could see the puffiness of her lip and eye, and I could only imagine what other marks marred her normally pale and finely formed features.

I pulled her toward me even closer, and she made the faintest cry of pain.

"Shh," I soothed. "It's okay now. I've got you."

"Okay," she sniffled back and started to cry.

I could feel the hot teardrops falling on my neck and arms, and I cradled her head against my chest. Her sobs poured out in ragged breaths, and I continued to make reassuring noises, letting her release all her fear and pain as I held her. Finally, she fell silent and asleep.

I lay there thinking. This was not the first time this had happened, nor would it be the last. Unless I stopped it. Me. All of 4'10" and 90 pounds soaking wet, but with the fury of a trapped lion. This had gone on for too long, and I could no longer justify cowering behind my own fear.

I slipped out of bed and grabbed the baseball bat in the corner. As I opened the door, light spilled into the room and on the sleeping form within.

"This is for you, Mom," I whispered. "No more pain."

Heaving the bat, I went out to confront the monster who was my father.

#nomoreabuse #prose #meditationchallenge

I must sit and write a poem

I reach down to scratch my ankle

It is time to write a poem

The itch travels up my left leg

Poetry drifts so far away

I scratch and scratch at my left hip

This is a night to write a poem

Now I'm scratching my right shoulder

Inspiration fades in the dark

Where is the calamine lotion?

Now meter has escaped with rhyme

I'm about to claw my skin off

There is no thought, no song, no poem

My muse died of poison ivy

Bright eye tree remember when

felt dreadful isolated remember little enough slowly carefully through you see bets blew like leaves that flew too you think you ought to look back bending this way without saying come back 

with in the sea ought to remember when, it's dabbling covering you shall I take you bending you this way without saying carefully through, sending you this way again it's true.

Imagine if you took a snapshot of the Universe, documenting the position, energy states, vectors, rates of atomic decay, and any other factors of all of the particles within. Then you waited for ten seconds and observed what happened. If you were to reset each and every particle to its original position, energy state, time in its half-life, etc., would the exact same thing occur another ten seconds later? If so, would the two instances ever deviate from each other? If not, imagine this: Take the birth of the Universe as the snapshot, and all that has happened afterwards the result. If reset exactly as it was all those billions of years ago, would we find ourselves here again, doing the exact same thing? Would there be again a galaxy dubbed "The Milky Way" by the intelligent primates inhabiting a planet christened "Earth?" Is all we do and all that has happened simply the product of every influence we encounter, from the most devastating tragedy to the faintest tickling of wind on our cheek? Is there really any such thing as free will?