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A Knife in the Heart
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A Knife in the Heart |
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Clang Member
since 2005-12-15
Posts 222 |
It was Thanksgiving Day when we met, my beautiful second son. My finger nestled in your hand, my cooing child, my new delight. In the hospital we never had a picture together, for no one thought to take one. Pictures taken of you with your dad, your siblings, your grandparents, but not with me. It’s not surprising. We took you home and on your second eve I prepared your bath. Your father saw and said he would do it. I said okay and set you on a towel on the table. He removed your clothes and then left you there. I ran to your side, but he was too quick and held me back. I cried with him to let me brace you. He shoved and pushed me away, telling me you were ‘his’ son. I fought and I shoved, but couldn’t get free. He was always stronger than me. All I could see were your tiny arms and legs flinging in the air. You were so close to the edge. Finally, he let me go and turned his back to me. I pleaded with him to let me take over, because he was so angry. He kept turning and pushing me back. I didn’t know what to do. I looked to my left and saw the kitchen knives and saw red and for an instant… I took a breath and left the kitchen, praying you would be okay. I sat on the bed and rocked until he was done. When you were two, I woke to your wonderful face. You climbed in bed, with your father at work, and cuddled. We watched Barney and read books. I made the bed and beneath you father’s pillow I found a butcher knife. It was wet. I had left it soaking overnight in the dishwater where you must have retrieved it. The moved chair in front of the sink told the tale. I knew I would leave your dad soon. |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
Nice writing...James |
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