The Raging and Consuming War of The Poetics


Not many weeks after my prayer offered
to a perfect God,
from the pit of my sinful nature,
my daughter was conceived…
the conception that finally put alcohol beyond my reach,
and my husband became even more irritating;
he was much better tolerated through inebriation.

when early morning breaks,
and I see parcels of light,
break through the venetians,
summer’s end nearing…
I realize that I am still in a war;
I pick a pocket full of poppies,
take in a long, deep breath,
choke on myself and go on.

Go on…
why must I?
Is there a law that says I have to go on?
I mean now,
not then.
Then I was young,
thought I had a chance,
carrying the love of my life,
the same life that would marry
and bring two more loves of my life…
crazy how that works –
life, procreation,
little hands and feet that march on your heart
and create a trail that no briar can cover.

Go on…
why must I?
I stayed with that man until he found sobriety,
I stayed with him faithfully until…
well, even now…
I was there when he decided I was no longer useful
and he cast me aside,
found someone else,
they broke up two homes,
hurt three children,
destroyed my spirit,
and yet,
I forgave –
in his current putrid state,
I can look him in the eyes and know, I have forgiven…
so I ask again,
why go on?
I have no regrets,
I will die a one man woman,
I birthed the perfect, beautiful daughter,
I love and know my two perfect grandchildren,
I love the poppies;
anything red…just like my little grandson;
why fight a war,
when I don’t think there will ever be a winner?
It’s like Vietnam –
no winner.

– Michellia D. Wilson 8/23/14 8 PM

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