Withering Witch

Mary sat silent. Her reminiscing had stirred up grief within her. Mary had not thought about Hector for a long time but with thoughts of him logically would come memories of her first husband. Not too many people realized what Mary went through.
During those years of abuse she confided in one person, her friend Sharon. Mary, like most people in her situation were secretive about their lives when it came to dealing with anger and aggression from another.
Mary knew, too, it was for self-preservation. Though she had not endured the physical violence many women went through Mary knew full well the dangerous effects of a verbal diatribe on one's soul. Her poem "The Withering Witch" was the momentary response to a wrath that left its mark for the rest of her life. Mary sat back and read over again those words she had written many years ago during one of her ex-husband's episodes.


The Withering Witch

Sitting at the dining room table tears running down spattered cheeks racing to nowhere and coming from the heart where the angry attack on her person verbalized in so many adjectives and outbursts of empty rage that for the moment she can only hold her breath in the pain that swells and blocks her heart from breathing.

And a moment of reality checked by the words that came down heavier than hands could ever blow upon a mortal body hits her into viewing the promises of yesterday made in a moment of hope shattered like bloodied stained glass by mere words.

Harmless sounds but daggers that penetrate the morrow and remind of old wounds healed by time but now pressed into this new laceration exposing a grief beyond any earlier infiltration.

Sitting, smoking a cigarette, alone, in a room with a candle kindled while the glow of her own heart has extinguished in the latest renewed exploit of severing her self-worth and injuring once again any expectation she had of loving the one whom she had for so long loved but for so long had rejected her and all his tirades of hate spitted out at her like water on the witch who withered and died in ruins.

She wonders what will ever change the conditions of his own pained heart for her own kind deeds and expressed loving endearments have only capitulated in her own be-hearting. And through the window as the sun seeks to rise and cast its rays of hope she marks her own existence rising up and greeting the new day with eyes of darkness and dread of the old demon hate being there to meet her in his expression when he appears drained and beaten himself on the new morrow's face.

She had wanted to tell him that first moment his lashes ripped through her skin how it hurt and to stop before so much damage had been done but she stood fixed in space holding the pain that wouldn't open its mouth within herself knowing any words on her part would only instigate further wrath from the beast that blasted vengeance upon her weary worn torn soul.

Instead she had risen and left, leaving behind her home and hearth to hasten to the safe aisles of shopping spending more money that would anger him even more if he knew her latest defeat of his attempt to amass a fortune before he would die and be buried alone himself with his millions and, she, above, looking down repeating: "If only" over and over and over but thoughts like these stopped for now she was there in the dining room with the candle flickering and the wax dripping down the floral arrangement like the old witch melting She wondered if her whole heart as yet had melted and gone for all she felt was numbness and distance growing soundly great between her and the man she had loved and had cherished but were now only words leaving a lasting impression upon her heart where hope had recently arisen in their latest agreement at working out the past years of abuse, albeit, angered atrocities.

She wondered her next move - to wait 'til morning, later, when he would be better and offer her hand in reconciliation and forgiveness but would words come that were important now to express her dislike of his ways, wayward from their truth?

Better perhaps to hold back her tongue in fear of more words working there way from his chest exploding again to reject her, so no, she would stop and hold back once more the reality and let him go on in his world of misbelief while she sat watching the sun rise while smoking cigarettes and writing words from a wearied heart tired of trying and yet still hoping beyond hope that he might some day know the true depth of sorrow he caused her.

Mary recalled that day sitting at the dining room table feeling less than nothing.
She had felt it before but the last bout of his anger had seemed to be the ultimate in destroying her self worth. It was not this event that was the catalyst to change.
Ironically, it was the same circumstances that had given Mary courage to bring Hector into her home that altered Mary's life and made her eventually deal with this man's angry diatribes. Yes, it was the death of her friend Bobbie that encouraged Mary to take stock of her life.
Mary had realized when Bobby died that she wanted changes in her life. She did not want to end up like Bobbie who had so many hopes and dreams and was waiting for her husband to die or divorce her before she did anything. Bobbie had died with all these unmet hopes and dreams. Mary had her own.
Mary smiled as she thought back to that period and all the modifications in her life. Her own transformation from a witherng witch to what she was now came as a result of Bobbie's death. Her friend's demise had meant life to Mary!
Odd, but this was true. Closing her business and going to university had both come about as a result of Bobbie's death. Ultimately, her separation from her ex-husband was tied into this one women's extinction.
"Extinction", Mary thought to herself, "that sounded cold and inhuman". Bobbie's life and death meant alot to Mary. She believed she was in heaven. Believed that she would see her one day and get one of her big bare hugs from this woman.
It was bittersweet these reminisces. Mary realized and hoped God allowed Bobbie to see how important her life was, at least to Mary.
No, Bobbie, hadn't lived out all her hopes and dreams. However, the fact that she didn't was the instigator that motivated Mary to fullfil many of her dreams. Wow! Mary thought, what a revelation! Bobbie's life seemed so much more precious in this moment and God had used what even seemed defective to Mary to encourage her on her own journey. Wow, what a blessing this women's life had been! It was not for not!
Mary smiled and inside was the warmth of that friendship still there tugging at her heart. Bobbie, dear sweet Bobbie.
She left her desk and her poetry behind.