They dance on your grave, them sweet l’il angels we made together. Your mama thinks it’s sweet I bring ’em here every year, like some kind of memorial to the dead.
“It’ll help them remember their daddy,” she says.
I just nod like I ain’t still trying to forget all you did. If it weren’t improper, I’d dance on your grave myself.
Ain’t no memorial to you, whether you be singin’ in glory or writhin’ in some fiery lake way down deep. I memorialize the livin’, me and my girls and everyone who never had the guts to fight back.
Friday Fictioneers (n): A world-wide community of writers addicted to writing 100 word stories based on a photo prompt provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
Powerful tale. “Your mama thinks it’s sweet I bring ’em here every year, like some kind of memorial to the dead…“It’ll help them remember their daddy,” she says.”…the blind devotion of the mother versus the reality of the pain this spouse suffered. My read of this poem — dedicated to those who suffer domestic abuse. May not be what you intended — but that’s what I read.
Spelling correction in first line….I’m pretty sure you mean angels?
Excellet use of dialogue.
Thanks for catching the spelling error. Those angels in the angles always get me!
Yes, you caught the intended meaning. Thanks for reading!
A very convincing voice. Well done, Lisa, nice one.
Thanks, Sandra. I haven’t decided yet if she’s the reason he’s in the grave, but maybe… 😉
Very strong piece of writing. Love the voice, love the layers of meaning. This one gave me goosebumps.
I really like this one – you’ve spoken up for all those voiceless women.