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Falling in The Memory Hole

Days go by, pleasant thoughts ensue.

not a minute when thoughts are not of you

Mommy and Izzy, in Alabama
Mommy and Izzy, in Alabama

 

I make him sad, talking about your life,

And it makes me cry, him forgetting you:

his wife.

I hear him say how wonderul your love,

yet I recall him on a pedestal above.

he sat in the den watching Rambo,

I tried to stem the bloodflow. The hateflow.

did you ever love him, mom?

I remember asking.

he seems to believe you loved him, madly…

I remember you being mad,.

all the time

You frowned so much a crease formed in the middle of your brow,

so deep, it never went away.

your head, always down, voice, eyes, down, down.

where are the pleasant things i recall?

did they happen for real? at all?

I miss the you who loved me, all the end days.

laying in your giant bed, two grand women,

mother-daughter, sister-sister, best friend-best friend.

face to face with tears and laughter,

joy and pain.

i miss you.

By Susan T. Martin

I am an Artist, Poet and Author. A Survivor of Violent Sexual Abuse and Rape, I have lived thru Severe Domestic Violence, Twenty Three years of Addiction and Alcoholism, Family Dysfunction, Chronic Pain, Dependence on Opioids, and 2 Venomous Snake Bites...I have Been Stabbed, Shot at, Tied to a Tree and Choked Unconscious. A Quarter Horse Rolled on Me, as did a Lawn Tractor. I also Wrecked a Harley into a Tree! I also have PTSD and Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder, and spent my 18th birthday in a Locked Psychiatric Ward. I am so much more than this: I feel like a tiny seed that sprouted in a desert, and now has grown into a Passion Vine. My Art is my Voice, Screaming, Crying, Praying, Loving, Laughing, Healing- all in Riotous Color...

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