“The darkest evening of the year” -Robert Frost, Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening

the first time you hold his neck

he tells you that it is a palace only a queen enters

you tell him you are his queen

then he shows you to the throne

you sit a kiss on it-

that is the same spot you drive your knife in

 

you are awakened by a noiseless wail

intuition makes your hands rove the bed

you feel the cold of absence

it tells you it has been empty a long time

 

you take your pocket knife

years of abuse builds a monster

you roar out of the room

 

your daughter’s door is shut

you hear the noiseless wail that woke you again

 

you’re careful when you open it

it is your baby’s graduation the next day

you do not want to wake her

 

it takes seconds for your eyes to find comfort in the darkness

you do not scream or call on God

you do not run to get anointing oil like your mother

 

you walk forward and drive the knife into him

history might have repeated itself

but this stepfather must die