Poetry: “In Her Arms”

By Elise Pulley, 16
Missouri

Art by Jin-ah Kim, 19
Korea

 

In her arms

 

The room was charcoal

no light shone through the slit under the door.

The clock's face read 11:11.

 

All was quiet and serene,

until they started.

 

I could hear them— the voices—through the layers of our house;

through plaster and wood, walls and doors.

 

The floor felt like ice on my tiny toes

as I slipped down the hall

to the door muffled with words.

 

"You NEVER spend time with me!

'I've got basketball, Glee

I was working, Glee

I forgot, Glee.'

Am I even important to you at all?"

 

Dead Silence,

followed by a heavy sigh.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing!" she snapped as she fled to the door.

"Just get on with your happy life."

The floorboards screamed a silent warning to me.

I didn't move fast enough though,

and they saw

me,

choking on tears and thoughts of divorce.

 

Bending, she picked me up, and turned us to leave,

and his arm reached to stop us.

"We'll talk about this later."

 

Bowing her head, she acknowledged his authority—

submissive—

docile.

 

And in her arms we were both helpless,

and I hated it.

 

Who could ever love

 

 

I remember the fight

as clear as shattered glass.

 

She was gone

I was the only one

left.

The emptiness filled me with longing

and with dread.

 

He had come at me

like a charging rhino.

I couldn't stop.

 

"You don't realize that you're just like

her!

No one

will ever want you!"

The words were a slap in the face,

the fingers left a memory, an imprint

of how he truly felt about her.

About me.

 

Ever so softly I had whispered,

"But she's still here."

 

I didn't have to say who—

He knew

who I meant.

 

As if possessed, he whipped around and gasped,

"You don't know what I've been through."

 

I did though.

She loved him with

all

her heart with

all

her soul.

 

Shaking his head angrily he vowed that

I was her.

 

No one could ever love a shrew,

for that was what I was.

 

Nothing more.

A bother

A pest

A mistake.

 

I remember—Do you?

 

I don’t go a second in the day

without thinking about

how I am like

her.

 

How he loathes me,

and how he doesn’t

love her like he should.

 

I don’t ever forget the words

he said to me,

because they’ve

seared

themselves

into the inside of my mind.

 

I won’t forget the secret he told me.

Whispering vehemently—

that I couldn’t tell her,

and that I couldn’t tell mom anything

we talked about.

 

I remember the tears

that stained my

cheeks every time

we fought.

Every time you said

I

hate

you.

 

I remember—

 

 

Do you?

Tagged as: divorce, Elise Pulley, family, Jin-ah Kim, Poetry