Filing the Protective Order

There are moments in the midst of moments that flash bright.
The first split-second luminous perfection;
bodies in motion casting beautiful shadow in candle light,
specks of brown glint in the blue of his eye;
laughter in his beautiful smile,
easy comfort in the strength of his hands.
Shoulders fall, heads roll, sighs, moans, sweet shudder;
purity and peace.

And yet, we know, It is not a charmed life I lead.
Other shoes drop, bad lifetime movies plot.
Ease made an appearance, then a disappearance in nearly the same instance.

That familiar shadow marked plague at my door;
Pounding accusations, searing threats
hurled against what is new born in me.

I move in White-blind,
grope for handholds between fast-flash; slow-motion.
The weight of what is left against what was, pushes back.
bruising the whole of what was so long lost in the deepest wells of who I am, who I want to be.

The scene, a cliche, repeats itself,
leaving cold water in my bath,
angry children echoing his poison, it drips from their boy-child lips.

Sweetness didn't run; he stayed long as he could,
he is much stronger than my humiliation.
I don't want my bed to grow still, quiet and cold.

If I am careful and cut the marionette strings that yank me this way and that,
I can focus, make out weak outlines, possibilities;
a passport on the dresser,
the next chapter marked to share,
a map of the unknown world.

That world is constant,
no matter how many times I drag this bruised ass in and out of the muck.
There will be grass huts to build, hammocks to hang, trees to climb, pies to bake and feasts of freedom.