Her story

My sister came home this morning

Out from home

Crying

I asked her if she had breakfast

She said she didn’t eat much

What took you so long?

She used to be busy during the day

‘Til she lost her job

So she’s got time in most days

Oh, why were you crying?

She was silent but in deep sobs

We fought again, uttered her

And I just didn’t know what to say—

She—coming from that toxic cycle

Was pathetic in so many ways

While I was the one who held her hand

My tears found a way to rip my floodgates apart

Looking at the bruises the MAN just knew how to mark

At home

A lot became litters looming on the floor

Hard to pick ‘em up they were in bits to crumbs

What happened?

She said, ‘’He was his usual self.”

She was at work

he was drunk all night

what?

Where were my lil tomatoes and baby ostrich?

At home, terrified and crying

Why did you leave ‘em there?

He locked em up; she had to run

The only thing she could say

Can’t we do something?

She said, don’t do anything.

She can fix it; she will fix this-

The lies she had to tell

It was her fault, she was nagging him

I said, shame on him!

There’s no way you’d feel sorry

For him who knew nothing

But to injure, damage and destroy

Why won’t you leave him?

‘There was nothing much I could do’ was all she had to say

And so leave him! I told her that

No, I can’t! she blurted out

‘My kids won’t have a father—‘

This and she left our house

She went home and found

The TV broken, the rice cooker

On the floor with rice spread in waste

The clean clothes now wet with urine, burnt

Some ants crawling and cockroaches feasting

On the fouled, soggy left overs

Poured on the pile from her hard-earned labor

Near the doorway diffused widely on

the mat-less floor,

her blood stained the wall after he

hit her with his knuckles

and every day, it seemed a habit

they both couldn’t adore.