Black Widow

Some people beg entrance

For a while…

Eyes wild, heart on fire

Words flowing, arms open

Promises tossed like candy

To small children on Halloween

Capturing you in their net

Requesting your soul for eternity

A safe place…

“Rest assured my Dear,” says the spider to the fly.

“Come stay awhile, rest your weary heart

Here, next to mine for always.                                    

I will care for you forever

You will be safe from harm.”

Then the voice who sits on your shoulder

Behind your right ear

Reminds your heart

Who will protect you from them?

 

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd

Frankie

Seven is too young to die…

http://www.haemoblues.com/about_you.asp

You were too little to be so sick.

I watched you lying in a tent,

Helpless

Nothing to give you

Only hugs.

Band-Aids didn’t work anymore

Round face, sad eyes

Pain that could be seen through

The plastic that helped you breathe.

Seven is too young to die…

So little in size, big in spirit

Hospital food, ordinary, boring…

Would sneak you burritos in my purse.

Even without hair

With marks on your head

Your were the most beautiful boy

I’ve ever known

So brave till the end.

Seven is too young to die…

Your parents stopped coming

There were other little ones to care for.

You would have been twenty-eight this year.

Could have gone to your graduation

Or sat in the front row at your wedding.

We shared a lifetime, you and I

In two short years.

Your face will live beside my heart

We will meet again

Seven is too young to die…

And twenty-one years

Is a long time, to wait to cry…

 

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd

Mask of Lies

He wears a mask, a mask

          covering lies while smiling,

“I love you Mom. You’re the best. Thanks for the car keys.”

Gorging on love given away like whip crème

          sprayed directly in the mouth

from the red and white can in the fridge.

What was it I missed,

          raising a boy into a talented creative man

With opportunities I could only dream about?

Giving away every item of love I wished for from one

Who was incapable of giving anything but food.

Whether circumstance or lack of understanding precipitated

The inability to give a daughter what she needed.

So I gave what I never received

Certain that love given as joy, as hope,

Would grow, would nurture his soul

This wanted child I longed for and cherished.

I’m lost, wandering through years I’ve lived

Not knowing what went wrong. 

Wondering…

Does anyone else comprehend such loss?

Mountains high with regrets

Why should one continue to breathe?

We foolish humans worry about serial killers

Strangers coming from shadows with torture unimaginable.

When the pain of being rejected by your child

Can cause you to wish your breathing would cease

And soon.

All rights reserved.  ©2010 by Sara Fryd

Murder of a Child’s Soul

            Once…

I was witness to a crime.

A crime perpetrated by a Mother

Upon her children

In the name of justice. 

            Feelings… 

She couldn’t deal with

She tossed aside

Like laundry thrown in hampers

Used, dreary, dingy…

Dumped them instead

On her children

So they could bleed for her.  

There’s no strength

In staying a victim

In collapsing on your children’s souls

Without their permission.

            Abuse…

Like verbal rocks

Through picture windows

Of yellow painted houses with white picket fences. 

By Mothers who abdicate

Responsibility for parenthood

Watching beatings,

Pretending they don’t see.

It takes no courage…

To use sons and daughters

Like packages opened at Christmas

            With price tags still on.

It takes no courage…

To demean, to subjugate

To lie to make yourself a hero.

Cowards manipulate and control.

Cowards destroy their children’s self-esteem

Because they have none themselves.

            And to think…  

One can not drive a car without a license

                                     or a test.

            Though…

A Mother can trash her childrens’ souls

            Daily… 

And never even get a ticket.

 

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd

from What If… only one child remained? (Amazon.com)

 

Princess?

You called me “Princess”

          again last night.

Then…

          you went away

          to your other life. 

Tomorrow…

          you will call, or come to see me

          and call me “Princess” again

Expecting…                                     

I will have forgotten

that yesterday you made love to me

           and called me “Princess”… 

Then went away to your other life

          that has no place… 

…for me.

 

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd 

Raison D’être

Little lies that keep adding up

The power trips he takes

At my expense

Advantages without my knowledge

Acknowledgment

Without my consent. 

Advantages…

that wrap themselves together tightly

tied like bundles of newspapers

for recycling that comes

Wednesdays with the big green truck

the dogs bark at.

Unconscious, unaware, uninformed

Intentionally blind not wanting to know

Too afraid to comprehend

Paralysis setting in

Advantages I toss away…

Without payment, without please,

Without permission, without thanks

placed in my subconscious daily

like on a shelf

stacked one upon the other

To be remembered and understood when I am older

when I have time for contemplation…

The divide begins……..then grows wider

The void becomes a chasm

Too wide to be traversed.

The switch moves up, the light comes on

The pills get tossed

I pick up my son

and walk out of his Father’s life for good.

 

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd

The Children Wept

Because they saw a sky of Wedgwood blue

Grass burned brown,

Flowers flat upon the ground

With tread marks left by tanks, and soldiers’ trucks…

                                               

Rainbows covering a molten sky

With colors never seen before that day…

 

God’s wonder could not erase…

                                                                       

            the sight

the sound

the blood…

 

The children wept with whispered tears.

Sounds so low they pierced an angel’s soul

Were heard reverberating from the earth…

Cries so loud they bounced right off the sky.

The angels wept and so did I.

 

 

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd 

from What If… only one child remained? (Amazon.com)

The Past Cries Out Loud

He is sick now

Just like she dictated everyday,

And at forty-seven

He looks eighty.

He tries to care

To get by

Like the rest of us

But schizophrenia gets in his way.

Leftover from a childhood

He sometimes puts aside.

Sometimes…

            But hardly ever forgets.

 

And I remember standing

In the corner of

A whisper green living room

At midnight

Scared to death.

His older sister

Only twelve myself

Couldn’t save him

            (Only seven)

While Mother sent him to jail.

For running away… 

            Because Father

Following her daily harangues

Beat him to punish her.

In our house punishment came in threes:

Instigated by our Mother

Carried out by our Father

Forcibly held inside the rest of our lives

            by us,

                   ourselves. 

I never understood Hitler

Until I learned the hatred

Worshipped by my Parents

In the name of God.

 

 

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd 

 from What If… only one child remained? (Amazon.com)