I Remember

I remember them still, even
now. After years, after
everything. I remember
them.

Cutlery learnt to fly,
Fists learnt to punch,
Blood chose to spill.

I remember them still, despite
you. To spite you.
You, us, her. What was it?
That difference, between
us, hovering. There, always.

Was it hatred, love or
perhaps boredom? I cannot
say. I could not breathe, then.
On those days that I
remember.

I remember them always,
in every smile and tinkle
of laughter or joy. In
my brothers and sisters and
You, Us and Her. In a home
that was once lovely. I
do not forget. In photos
and fishing and dinner.
I remember.

I remember the lights.
Reds, blues and whites
The darkness and the sounds
Sirens, screams and smashes.
The horror, fear, hate. The
darkness, ‘it’s too late.’

I do not remember why. Why
You, Me, and Us broke and
why it began or ended:
why lovers kisses became
Death’s strikes. Or why
a home became a house
And a family just people.

I do remember how. How
each strike cried out
slap, crunch and scrape.
I remember how red rivers
spilt from new holes and
caverns. I do remember
how metal struck flesh and
how a goddess was defiled.

In my head metal still flies
and rivers still flow. And my
siblings cry and I remember,
or do not forget. I live
these nights each night,
in bed. I am trapped and
chained. I see them and I
hear them, I live them still.
I remember them still, and
I will remember them
always.

The nights that you battered my mother.

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