I'm taking controlYour wife stood in her studio
a paintbrush in one hand
the pole of her IV stand in the other.
You remember how she stood that morning -
she wasnt wearing any shoes
She had her easel by the balcony doors
and she stared out into the woods beside your house.
not knowing you were watching she sat the brush down
and lifted a pair of scissors that she kept around
and cut off her long black
without even flinching
you gasped and she turned slowly to you
and as you fell to your knees
a tear slipped down her cheek
into an uneven smile on her mouth
and she laughed
that weak laugh you never wanted to hear.
and then she whispered
through the hospital green of her studio
"I'm taking control"
My mothers tone of voice was one that I recognised. When she spoke like this you knew not to talk back. I sat emotionless in my armchair, my arms folded lightly across my chest so I could quickly cover my face if needed be. I was a good child - I always did well in school, I did my chores and was obedient and well mannered and for that my father was grateful but it was never good enough for my mama.
I had taken just about enough of her incessant screeching that day and I looked up at her with dark-ringed moody eyes. She raised her hand high above her head and it came down hard towards my cheeks. My angry fists shot up and caught her wrists and she choked back a shout. She glared at me and I felt her begin to tremble viciously beneath my tight grip. However I was stronger than Mama.
I pushed her heavy body away from me onto the hard, tiled floor and glowered at her. I turned on my heels and as I reached the front door of my house I turned and said "Fuck you "