“do not wake the children.”

This fear chokes and clenches;

afraid to breathe

at night

when he comes home

reeking of cheap booze

and his soul is on fire.

He clumsily shuffles in

seeking his prey,

lashing out;

muffled cries apologize

for some unknown sin

and entreat,

“do not wake the children.”

But we know this fear

as a mother pleads,

when a mother bleeds

throughout an endless night.

And in the morning,

her downcast eyes

and another bruise

will bear evidence

of the battle,

she endured repeatedly

to protect us.

And when the evening comes,

he arrives

bringing flowers,

an offering and penance.

And we will pretend

all is right in our world,

until the next time

he arrives,

reeking of cheap booze

when he comes home late

at night

afraid to breathe

when this fear chokes and clenches.