1978,
the seventh anniversary of our marriage
we spent the night in a van,
on top of Brasstown Bald mountain.
He slipped a pistol under the mattress
and said we would be safe
from robbers.
Vandals wear many disguises
and the violated learns, eventually,
to recognize the mask.
2 a.m.,
wrapped in my own arms,
the scent of his whiskey on my neck,
bruises on bare trembling legs;
I stood naked before the moon.
In cold October air,
had to find my way back
to me.
© Shirley Alexander
Your write is so sad and captures despair so vividly........10
So terrible and poignant. 'Vandals wear many disguises'. How true and how sad that sometimes they are disguised in the people we love or think we love. All the best, Shirley.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is profoundly sad. Short but powerful.