COHELL (poem)

Skitch and future husband 1983

THEN:


Last year, 2012, I had three poems and a short story chosen for small local publications. I also created a design for a wolf statue that was auctioned off and sold for $500.00. I didn't make much money for any of these ventures, but for me and for most artistic souls, it's more about the love of creativity. I would make things - draw, design, photograph things that catch my eye, write stories, novels, poems, make pots and decorative ceramic art, color with (and without) little children, and on and on - even if I knew I could never share what I was making. Art is an outlet. It takes the edge off the heartache of life better than any drug I know of, and it expresses the joy that might otherwise explode inside my heart and head. Life is so full. It's full of pain and pleasure, awe, and disappointment. Only art can tell the full measure of what that is like. It is that which sets us apart from our brothers the animals. Dorothy might have completed Jerry Maguire, but it is art that completes me, and I would make love to it every day of my life even if I could share it with no other breathing soul...

Thankfully that is not the case. I love sharing, and thanks to the Internet, I can now share the fullness of life with you, dear reader, and anyone else that cares enough to click on my blog and run their eyes across these words. I am now going to share those three poems, that story, and the photo of the design with you in the next five blogs.
Thank you for looking.
Thank you for reading.
Please come back.

In the '90s I was involved in a mutually abusive and very unhealthy relationship. I was struggling with what my counselor called "Codependency",which was a nasty little game I had learned to play while growing up around someone that was clinically depressed, agoraphobic, quite likely suffering from factitious disorders (which were proxied) and taking plenty of prescription drugs. 

Sometime in 1997, I was struck by how much I could love this man before and after he mistreated me, and how much I could fear and even hate him in the slices in between... That is my side of it... I don't know how he felt. I'm sure it wasn't much better than how I felt, and although I got the short end of the stick when push came to shove, I usually started the pushing. Words are my heart. I express myself with them, and they mean so very much to me. Words from others were far too powerful in my world at that time. They could lift me so high or wound me so deeply. So, when he began with the words of hate, I knew I would rather take a beating than listen to them drop out of his mouth. I would hit him, and he would hit me, and the pain of the words would be replaced with physical pain, which I felt much more capable of handling.

During that hard time I wrote a poem I entitled "COHELL". I left out the physical abuse because I could not bear to face it even long enough to write about it. If I could have, I probably would have left much sooner than I did...

But I did leave. That's important for you to know...

I did leave.


      
          COHELL...


Eyes pure blue crystal,
Hair a deep, thick brown,
Arms strong yet tender,
Gently wrap me 'round.
Lips whisper, “I love you.”
Kiss me softly, sweet.
Oh, how much I love you.
Life seems such a treat.
Here you are – My man.
Strong yet tender,
Hold my hand.
Eyes so full of love.
A gift so great,
Sent from above.
Our day draws on...

One more six-pack,
And he'll be through.
How much he drinks,
Is up to you.
Prepare good meals,
And clean the home.
Then he'll control it,
On his own.
Our evening draws on...

Eyes so full of anger.
Bitter words to hurt and wound.
It's getting awfully late.
Midnight comes too harsh,
Too soon.
Still, he isn't tired,
And you'd best not sleep,
for then the largest anger,
Like ooze, will grow and creep.
“Where is that thing I need?
Find it ! Find it now!
Why are you trying to read?
Where did you put that?
Find it now!”
The music is so loud.
Will it wake the little ones?
“This house is a pig sty!
Why can't you clean it once?
Shut up stupid! Don't cry!”
Our night draws on...

Eyes so full of hate.
Finally, he agrees,
“Perhaps it is getting late.
Fix me something to eat.
No, I don't like that,
What you had.
Fix something I can eat.
No not that – nor that!
Find something good,
Yes, maybe that.”
Now it's 'cold'.
Now it's 'burnt'.
Now it's 'old'.
Now it's 'ruint'.
Try again.
Our morning draws on...

I lie beside him in our bed,
Ponder each cruel word he said,
Until sleep, at last, overtakes me.

Eyes pure blue and crystal,
Softly they look down,
Arms strong yet tender,
Hesitantly wrap me 'round.
Lips whisper, “I love you.”
Kiss the pain away.
This is how my world is.
How is yours today?