The Sunday Poem: Poetry of Domestic Violence


Last night the madness stole my soul.
Wove blood red mists before my eyes.
Drove me to the door axe-handed.
Thoughts garbled to the carrion crow.
Blood curdled in the pits.
Garotte for finger, stone for fist.
A knife and spear for hand and eye.

Till it seemed a child came, bathed in light
and held the space between with grace
till anger froze into shame.

To the parent of this rage: Blind grief .
We say: ‘Come in! Come in to the Heartspace!
Let us speak awhile to hear what
breeds your dark pain. Tell us tales
of sorrow long into the night. Let's
drive this demon from your door.’

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