The one voted most likely to slice open
Her wrists, hang herself by the neck
Put a bullet in her brain; take that one
And stone by guilty stone, begin
Building a monument of some sort
Don’t worry about things from the past
Indicators that the situation may be
Quickly going south or that this might
Not be the season to flirt with this
Possibility; don’t pause to consider
Where this might all end, where it
Has ended other times when the start
Has been so similar to this start
You are not even thinking along
Those lines at all, are you, there are
No thoughts like those anywhere to be
Found in your mind, only her mind
Is a littered minefield of possible
Explosions that might take out her life
At least parts of her sane life and yet
No matter how many times you may
Have been exposed to this particular
Scenario, you do not possess even a
Tracing of it remaining in your
Consciousness; on some level,
Probably on most levels, she senses
This and knows she is doomed
S.E.Ingraham©
December 17, 2009
Written amidst arguments about Christmas – mostly between my daughters and I, about where one daughter - the one with children - and her family - are going to be spending the holiday (out-of-town) and an incredible bitterness from the other child surrounding this decision* ... the argument degenerated into all sorts of things – detailed in my journal – and non-speaking – one is still not speaking to me – it’s been almost 2 weeks now. Anyhow – things were starting to get sorted out last night, I thought, the two girls talked but then I tried to explain some stuff to you and then we fought and now I guess we’re not talking. That’s where this poem grew from.* (There were mitigating circumstances behind our youngest's unhappiness, unbeknownst to the rest of us until long after the fact.)
