Untitled

by Michelle Homer

He looks at me with his steel blue eyes penetrating my heart,

and he says, "I can kill you, you know.

Don't think I can't.

I know where the knives are.

I have one in my drawer."

I reply, "I know you are so angry you feel you'd like to hurt me,

but I won't let you hurt me.

Just like I won't let anyone hurt you.

You're my little boy."

He screams,"Get out of my room.

You're not my real mom anyway."

I want to yell, "Right, you're right!  Your real mom left you alone,

did drugs when she was pregnant with you,

and never followed through on anything a real mom should do,

and you hate me for that?"

But I don't say those things to him.

I try to put my arm around him.

He pushes me away,

tries to bite me,

and goes into a rage.

I'm afraid he will hurt himself.

  Inside I'm thinking, "What will I do when he is 10, 12, 14?

Will he kill me?"

I no longer fear I'll hurt him.

I've learned not to get sucked into his rage,

but my entire being is disintegrating,

like a sand castle washed out to sea.

Will there be anything left of me?

What he doesn't  realize is he is killing me now.

Little by little, there's nothing left for me to give.

I'm being sucked dry.

Consumed.

"Get out of my room" he yells.

I pull open a drawer... then another, and another.... looking for a knife.

"I'll kill you. I can and I will."

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