No One Would See

NO ONE WOULD SEE

Trembling she asked,
Are you okay?
Is there anything you need?
Dad sent me to ask.

The woman lie on her side
cocooned blankets past her chin,
body in the fetal position, eyes closed.
A child's wide eyes took in the day-dark room,
and her mother on the bed.
She lay with her back towards her.
The woman had been crying.

I'm fine.
I don't need anything.
Go back downstairs.

Tears started, she swallowed them away.
Suffering her mother's words brought
to her heart never lessened, never dulled.
Sometimes it was words themselves
other times tone or facial expression.
Futility, resentment and distress
traveled through her in electric currents.
She stood motionless.

I wish I could help her feel better,
I'm afraid of her, she won't let me, I'm afraid of her.
I'd like to reach out and hold her,
say I love her and reassure her it will be all right.
I'm afraid of her, she won't let me, I'm afraid of her.
She'll hurt me with words, push me away.

Tears came again and she let them stay,
no one would see; no one would look.
In the day-dark room with her mother's back to her
no one would see; no one would look.
Walking to the door she kept her head down
watching her feet, making sure she could see
to walk between the tears.
Without looking back
she closed the door behind her.