The Old Man

I haven't written poetry much since we got married, hardly any since Marie, and none at all since Jed. Several times I was in one of those wish-I-was-inspired-because-I-feel-like-writing-poetry sort of moods. But I didn't work to get inspired long enough to actually write any.

Then my husband had this incredible nightmarish dream, of the sort that changes lives. Inspiration. I did not do it justice, by any means, especially conveying the terror, but I think it is a powerful poem still. At least it could be if I felt like editing it...

I know I didn't post last week, but I thought that since I posted three times the previous week and worked on two new posts, I'd let it go.

Here it is.

The Old Man

I drew the soft and midnight blue
up to my arms and cuddled down
beside my wife and chubby babe
the creaking bed the only sound.
I thought of child asleep in bed,
her tiny bum stuck in the air,
I had checked on her a bit before,
peeking in the bedroom atop the stair.
Laying the babe in his round blue bed
beneath the layers, five at least,
my darling turned with a quiet smile,
and we silently waited while the warmth increased.

She ran her fingers through my beard,
Curled and thick and brown,
"You're warm," she whispered. I didn't look,
but heard the smile in her sound.
The weekend had gone much too fast,
But I was too tired to say.
So I thought of wife and children and home
As I quietly drifted away.

The light flashed through the walls
Piercing my dreams,
And I woke in a cold, hard sweat.
But the room was dark
and the sheets were cold
in the empty space where my wife had been.
The sound of drums
shaking the house
merged with the hiccuping pound of my heart
And my quivering eyes
peered over the edge
and the state of abandoned baby quilts
suddenly emptied that heart.

The motion light in the neighbor's yard
beat like something possessed,
And through the crooked bedroom door,
I could see that light was matched by the rest.

Somewhere some music was pounding a beat
I never had heard before,
And something was out there,
and then my feet hit the icy floor.
My fingers wrapped around the hard white edge
and yanked vainly on the crooked door,
And tears rolled as I bit my lip,
But when I lifted my hand,
my cheeks were dry as before.

My steps on the fake wood floor
matched my still-beating heart,
back to the cavernous closet deep
where my guns stood like stalagmites
in black shadows
till my anger began to seep.

My fingers hit the slimy walls,
and my knees banged to the ground.
No rifle barrel
No bullet box
Only a scratching sound.

I grasped the iron leg of my bed
Felt for the solid cord,
But the black metal house of my pistol
never met where my fingers explored.

I jumped to my feet,
gritting my teeth,
fingernails digging my skin,
banged open the door,
ignoring the lights,
and the music that withered me in.

My hand seemed to flow
through the wooden post
as I bounded up the stair,
plunging into the deep dark,
killed when I found
what I knew would not be there.

My finger dug the pack'n'play walls
in my silent anguished scream,
and the gray carpet seemed to crawl
Slimy and black and green.

Her doll house lay
like a murder scene
I felt tiny fingers down my back.
I desperately looked for anything
I could use for my attack.

I thought of the post,
but when I got to the stairway,
it was gone
and all the while there beat on a tune
like a world-ending song.

My feet knew the way around the corner
up the single kitchen stair
but straight ahead the backroom loomed
with black hole darkness
and I knew that he was there.

The flowery curls of the calendar
mocked me on the bloody wall.
I blinked; it was no longer there.
It faded to a rack of blades
that returned my angry stare.
I grasped a machete, heavy, stout,
and stepped
ahead.
My t-shirt had gained another hole,
I hadn't noticed when.
The pulse came from that room,
and the smoke, it billowed out.
And now I must summon my voice
cowering inside
with a fear-inspiring shout.

"I'll kill you!" I cried
before the wall
of smoke and menacing sound.
And I saw the slithering shadow,
and thought of my darling,
and stood my ground.

That monster had stolen my children, my life,
behind that opening without a door,
And my face stood strong
though my insides shook till they were sore.

"Come out, you fiend!" I cried,
machete above my head,
and I pictured his limbs writhing about
until I crushed him dead.

He advanced through the fog
as I prepared to strike
any monster I could see,
till the darkness faded
and the pounding stopped,
and the monster,
it was me.

"I'll kill you!" I cried,
facing myself,
gritting terror and tears,
I looked in my eyes
and saw all I had done,
and advanced despite my fears.