One Day At A Time
There are so many things I'd like to forget,
The day my father left my mother;
my mother did not cry. Instead, she
closed the doors to her home and
her heart and let no one enter.
Not even me.
The day my uncle put his hands in my
little sister's underwear. I saw him,
he smiled, and promised to never touch her again, if I took her place. Of course I did, I would die before letting him have her. I told my mother, but she was deaf to everything except my father's footsteps near the gate, the footsteps that never came.
The day my first boyfriend kissed my best friend at a party. It was dark, but not dark enough to hide our sins. I wished them luck and left and walked around Juhu all alone, the moon my only companion.
The day I found my mother curled up like a foetus in bed, dried blood soaked into the pillow, wrists slashed. She was smiling, eerie, translucent, as if she had never existed. She was a mirage and I was all she left behind.
The day my husband came home drunk, pulled me close, my heart almost burst with fear. This stranger with the face of the man I loved, he could have killed me and I would have died happily, but fear is not death, fear creeps up slowly and it never leaves, fear murders over many years rather than a single moment.
The day I went to the abortion clinic, lost half my salary and my womb's only hope. I never told my husband, we do not speak of such things, we do not speak at all.
The day I left him, I locked the house the way my mother had done, closed the rooms and the windows and the doors, put up iron walls and never looked back. I walk a little straighter now. I am a little stronger now.
There are some days I would like to remember forever. Those days, I take things slow. I work, I read, I sleep. I gaze out the window and think about how restful it is to take one day at a time. I sip my tea and details from all those other days blur in my head, and I am grateful. - 26 minutes ago