Broken (poetry)

 

Broken
He was broken long before he rolled off her bed
And she called her mother crying, “I just turned my back for minute”.
Broken, long before he wailed and writhed at her full breast
Not wanting to eat, not wanting to be held, not knowing what he was wanting.
Maybe even broken
In the murky water where he slept growing
Within.
She saw bones that she made
She saw navy eyes of mirrored pools
But even before his body was freed
 from it’s knotted root inside her
A jagged bolt of disconnect.
So alone with this small Someone
Days to months to years
Fear, her husband’s face
Their unsmiling Stranger
Disquieting the space
Where she
And he lay
Broken.
Not wanting to eat, not wanting to be held
Neither knowing what he was wanting.

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