Solid

You sit on the floor now,
tightened to the corner.
We do not want to be here.

You look at me.
I look at my hands.
All that is left is disbelief again.

Silas Marner and The Pilgrim’s Progress have fallen off
but other than that,
the bookshelf still looks solid.
Our children have never questioned
the excuses and accidents.

In the absurdity of this,
I hope you are alright.

Strength and defiance
pillar your quietness.
No pleas or amputated chokes.

So I can never understand
why you never did retaliate, have not left.

In happier times,
I am too ashamed to ask,
you have too much pride to discuss it.

Or maybe it is because
I am going to tell you now and you will
believe me:
that if it were not for you,
this would not have happened,
and trust me
it will

never happen again.