Some Memories Don't Fade

SOME MEMORIES DON’T FADE
By P. Fleming

The green wall to wall carpet,
That covered the floors.
The little lace curtain,
That hung on the front door.

The original white cabinets,
The dark checked kitchen floor.
That old washing machine,
That didn’t work anymore.

Mom drunk at the table,
Dinners ruined tonight.
Appetites lost,
Another meal ends in a fight.

Dad sitting stiff on the couch,
The scratchy one in the den.
He looks defeated and tired,
That’s how every day ends.

She’s down in the cellar,
Hugging the cat.
Whispering words of escape,
And not coming back.

Things quiet down now,
So she creeps up to bed.
She knows she won’t sleep,
She’ll lay crying instead.

She knows something is wrong
This isn’t how it should be.
She wishes life could be easier,
She just wants to be free.

The sun’s going down now,
Only street lights through the blinds.
Alone in the darkness,
Her most peaceful time.

Curled up in her bed,
But still facing the door.
She prays softly to God,
They don’t fight anymore.

Some memories don’t fade,
All the details are there.
Her little twin bed,
Cigarette smoke in the air.

Soft footsteps climbing,
The carpeted stairs.
She’s been in there for hours,
But nobody cares.

Feeling angry at Mommy,
And sorry for Dad.
He’s always so good,
But she’s always so bad.

The light in the hallway,
Is finally turned off.
The creak of their mattress,
And Mom’s cigarette cough.

64 years now,
A lifetime has passed by.
But that scared little girl,
Is still lurking inside.

She wonders why nobody asks,
How she feels.
Aren’t her feelings important?
Aren’t they just as real?

She measures her breathing,
Her eyes glued to the door.
And she waits for the comforting sound,
Of their snores.

Now she relaxes,
Mom and Dad are asleep.
She prays the Lord Blesses them,
And their souls he will keep.

The memory fades,
She feels weary and sore.
And as sleep starts to woo her,
She turns away from the door.