The girl under the bridge

Its raining, hard

Its cold, colder inside

pieces are missing 

It spilt out of her eyes, ages ago

She squats, holding her tummy, 

It's her favourite position

It appeases the hunger

The darkness overcomes

Can't light a fire,

She draws her sweater closer

Puts her school jacket on

But wind blows straight through her

She's too thin, too broken, too damaged

Life put her outside, nowhere to hold

Deep gashes in her back

Ridges of pain criss cross

Festering quietly, making her sick

her white shirt stuck to her skin

Alone, she faces the world

She will not stand with the others

She's ashamed guilty 

She's dirty, greedy men 

They don't see her

They only know her price

Its a kind of suicide really

Going down on a man

It's a way to die, raw and human

She wants to die

But she doesn't know how

She didn't have to care,

She wants to die

But she doesn't know how

Wishes

What do I wish for myself? 

Do I wish my life undone? 

The pain, those awkward moments.

Could I have done without my tears, those scars?

Could I have done without the humiliation, the shame?

What if the hanged, the rubber belt or the loneliness did not exist

What if the brutal violation hadn’t occurred

Sadistic men with their own agendas 

An ignorant man clever with words

Torturing my insides in seemingly never ending waves

Would I be a flat person, like a sheet of white paper?

All smooth and without crinkles, without darkness

Would I be able to find myself

Would I be able to swim, to dance, to create 

If I had my life undone 

Would the darkness be so dark

Would I be able to find my way 

Pick up the torch to see the exit

Would I be able to write this now

The sin eater 4

The parents

The father is shouting and hitting doors. He breaks the window in an attempt to make her hear.  The banging of his fists on the huge wooden door is infinitely echoed.  The windows are shaking and my nine year old heart is shuttering.  He only does that when he’s drunk the brandy.  She can’t hear because the music is too loud. She is a swirling mess of Barbara Streisand, cheap cigarettes and even cheaper wine.  I lie in my bed. Me and the roaches. She’s let him in the front door now, thank God. We live on the High Street and this weekly occurrence has caused the entire world to know the shame. Nowhere to hide. Sigh. It is what it is, I guess.

I can hear shouting above Barbara. The noise gets louder and louder. I put the pillow over my head and I start unconsciously rocking myself.  Shit the sheets are wet. Am I crying? Why can’t I just sleep?  I start breathing. Slowly. I have to think. I have to have a plan of action in case he comes in.  For me and the roaches. I hear him hit her. I hear her cry out and fall. The music gets louder in my head and for a split second my attention is taken away from the unfolding drama. 

In that split second he has managed to disentangle himself from Barbara and her and walk down to burst open my bedroom door. FUCK. My windows are barred. My only hope is to out maneuver him.  I can’t hear what he is saying even though he is shouting at me. Whatever he is shouting at me is the reason for his outburst tonight.  I know that I will hear about it at school because he will have told everybody at the bar where he got drunk tonight.  He punches a hole in my wall. Again. My poor wall.  As he lunges forward to hit me with his enormous fists I slip past him and into the adjoining room where I find her cowering on her bed. Barbara doesn’t give you courage. The forgotten paragraph in the music is the one which tells you to protect your child. She’s too far gone to help anyways. He recovers enough to follow me but is distracted by the need to vomit. I hear him heaving heavily before it all comes out in one mass.  I can smell it. It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting. She’s disgusting. Barbara is disgusting. I’m disgusting.

I run to the opposite side of the house near the kitchen. I hide in the pantry.  The roaches have told me where to hide. I’m not alone in the madness.  He never finds me in the pantry. The dog, however finds me and together we curl up in a corner while the house settles down.  I rock myself to sleep. My tears are all licked up. 

Early morning I let the dog out and clean the vomit up. The father wakes up and in a flourish of regret and guilt makes a huge breakfast for the whole house. Eggs, toast, sausages, beans and crispy bacon. The mother is smiling, pretending that nothing happened. I don’t say anything. I paint another picture to cover the hole in the wall.  A ship to get out of here and a house to live in. I know tonight it will happen all over again, but for now I sit down and choke those fucking eggs down. I eat because I am their sin eater.       

The sin eater 3

The father-in-law

I heard my little car sputtering.  Damn damn damn.  With the kids in the car too. I sat there in the rain with the kids crying. The tears where almost as much as the drops on the dirty windscreen. Their ranting voice vibrated in my ears.  It almost killed the music in my head. Almost, but not quite. ‘Mommy I’m hungry. (I’ve just fed you, my sweetheart).  Mommy why aren’t you going home.’ (Can’t you see the car is stuck). Mommy I’m cold. 

FUCK. Now I’m going to have to call the father-in-law.  I collected my thoughts. What’s wrong with my life that I only have HIM to depend on.  I know the answer to that of course is that my abusive husband has managed to kill all my friendships off. I studied this at nursing college. Let’s not go there now. 

I collect my thoughts and call. ‘Please can you come and help me. I’m stuck in the rain about three minutes from where you live ‘I say. He sighs. I can hear his brain clicking over.  He is already thinking of all the crap he can throw in my face. Now he can put the knife in me and twist it till I can’t breathe anymore. 

He arrives with his little car and a tow rope. The minute he climbs out the car he starts pounding me with questions. There’s no answering him so try to keep quiet as my brain screams the answers. The rain is pouring down, the wind swirling around my body. I can see the rain drops avoiding my body because my answers are vibrating so hard in my head. 

‘Where was I going?’ (I was at the doctor because your son kicked my stomach so hard I’ve had a miscarriage). ‘Why do you take the kids with you?’ (Because they my kids and I don’t trust your son near my daughter.) ‘Can’t you see it’s raining?’ (Duh) ‘I was reading the newspaper and now I HAVE TO come do this.’ (Why didn’t you just say no then, if this is too much effort?)  Here it comes now I think. ‘Why must I do this?’ (Because your lazy drunk son is vomiting on my newly washed sheets).

‘You MUST learn to be more independent,’ he barks at me. (I am trying, you stupid old man, but your son keeps drinking my wages).  ‘It’s because of you that my son can’t get ahead in life.’  (Am I throwing the alcohol down his throat?) He has put the knife in my chest with that last comment and now attempts to twist it. I hold my broken rib and what’s left of my precious uterus. I feel the unborn child leave my body. I gulp. God bless all the little children. 

‘It’s your fault he is like this’. He says. There it is. The truth. These people who profess to love me actually think I’m dog shit. Maybe I am.   I know I feel like dog shit today.  

Finally, he attaches the rope to the car. He is dissatisfied because I don’t answer back. I don’t give him a reason. Do I know how to tow he asks. I am still quiet. He knows my father is a mechanic and I can tow a car in my sleep. Just when my last breath of defiance finally leaves my body he turns around and gets into his car and tows me to his house. 

My mother-in-law has the same questions and I have to relive the same reality. I don’t answer her either. She makes soup as I watch the fetus swirl and disappear. If I tell them what has just happened it will be my fault.  I sit down with them at the table. I spoon the soup into my mouth and swallow because I’m their sin eater.  Much later at home my daughter wants to know why her grandparents always so nasty to me. That night I prayed she will forget.