Sometimes, mother and son,
Danced and played,
Sang songs and did some ridiculous things
That give most mothers those angelic wings.

Her promised treat for supper in the oven lay,
Sending little swirls of smoke
to gently announce that it was done.

Then he came home and added to the heat.
Perhaps, the unfortunate corner that I chose to hide
Brought the echoes of their ravings and ranting too close.
Resounding, even as I crouched and covered my little ears.

- I was just a little child-
And explosions in the dark petrified me,
Even though some may have been
The dazzling fireworks on New Year's Eve
Splashed against the Harbour Bridge!

Since neither habit nor frequency could train my ears
to look at their bitter exchange of fire as a common ritual.
I arched in the swell of wide-eyed fear
As I heard doors slam and some furniture crack,
but couldn't tell for sure if it was only the furniture that broke that night!

In the distance, the oven screamed silently.
I breathed the choking air, and tasted the burning spices,
And knew the cheese was beyond repair.
So I just pictured the crispy bacon and golden crust
that would have dressed my favourite dish.
Till the stench grew too strong to resist.
I bent forward hoping to gulp some air.
Until mercifully, the fire alarm broke the frenzy of his rage.


Her gentle hands rushed to the windows to steal some fresh air,
Sobbing frantic eyes groped in the haze....
"Mummy," I whispered..."Are you hurt?"
Her bruised arms hugged me so tight, I could say no more.

I kissed my mother and cried along with her that night
And suddenly, in the fresh taste and smell of her blood
I lost all appetite!