Straitjacket, Poetry in Motion

Straitjacket, Poetry in Motion: To Prelude

Chapter One: To Prelude

- is that alright -

It's like a canvas ripping. The seams coming apart, one by one by one. Watch it tear, watch it burn. You like that, don't you? The beauty of destruction. Come then, watch the show. Watch them crumble.

It'll be fun.

Mama has the most wonderful chocolate eyes.

She cries a lot after you've gone to bed. She sits in her room and cries after the lights in house have been turned off. She closes her door gently and for a few moments there stretches a tenuous silence you pray will last until the morning.

But it seems the stronger you hope, the louder she is when she eventually breaks down.

It hurts to hear your Mama cry.

When you get to school in the morning, you practice reading and writing before anyone else arrives. When you are sat alone, in the very far corner of the playground, you find it difficult to watch the other children arrive. They arrive with their parents. They smile. It is so unfamiliar.

Your Mama does not smile. She does not even frown. She hurts.

You imagine you are the one that is hurting her.

You examine your face in the mirror.

"You are just like your Papa."

If you look just like your father, then the surly face staring back at you is him.

Does that make her hate you, you wonder.

Mama.

You don't ask Mama what your Papa is doing, why his affection seems so hard. Asking her why he smiles when he loves her. Teacher says its wrong, but what does Teacher know? You know, Mama knows, Papa knows. It is enough.

You know what love is. You know, even as a child, how to show love.

You lie in bed and listen to Mama crying. You think that this is the way things are meant to be, that any other way would be too strange, those children at school are strange.

It's not real, just fake. Fake smiles, forced hug. Deceiving affection.

Nothing.

Not to be sought or envied.

Nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Your father tells Mama he loves her, shows her through fists.

That is love. Punches and beatings and insults. Want to say 'I miss you'? Slap, slap till you draw blood. Want to say 'I care about you'? Kick, kick and scream, and throw things. Maybe till the person you love is asleep. Until one of your love declarations sends them to sleep.

You know what love is, as resoundly as you know how to spell the word 'apple'.

You learnt that in school yesterday.

See?

Before you could spell 'apple', you saw how Mummy's and Daddy's express love.

A day, a week. The time differs. But Mama always goes away; wandering, and then drifting back, almost unwillingly. But when she comes back, Papa loves her even more.

A happy home.

When this happens she looks for you. It's as though you are an anchor, just dragging her down, down. Keeping her tied to this place.