PoetrySad Poems

Before the Downpour

The clouds were a bit mauve,
Proposing a blistering deluge,
Dede had ordered the windows shut,
But I wouldn’t give up on Ma’s return,

The house became so dark now,
Crinkled into shades of somber,
I remained on my bed, affright,
By the heavy drumming on our rooftops,

I was slipping slowly into slumber,
A new habit I thought I could overpower,
But there’s no single thing to do,
All play suspended by rain.

Dede had traipsed into my crevice,
His blistered palm over my smooth legs,
I was startled awake,
All nerves stood out in defence for my sanctity.

Those hands turned harsh,
Pressing my feeble frame against my bed,
Weakening my inviolable attempts,
Tearing me open for his pleasure.

What day was it today?
Why was Dede doing this to me?
He’d given me the very life I lived,
Now, he was going to snuff it out again.

The rains had ceased instantly,
Last small drops crashing against zinc,
I fetched my battered wears,
Scurrying off to the senescent bathroom.

I could hear all the cheerfulness as I scrubbed,
Obviously Ma had returned,
Chatting about the flickering weather,
Dede supporting her with fine laughs.

Leaning on the algae-ridden wall,
I scrubbed and washed,
Cried till I felt no tear rush forward,
Then, I came out.

Deciding what scar was lighter to bear,
My honour shamelessly breached,
Or that Dede did me the honours,
Whichever is easier, I’m no longer that child,

Before the downpour.

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