when I hear
that phone ring,
unbidden, harsh.
I won’t turn down
the ringer,
nor change the ringtone
lest I forget this feeling.
“I know what you did
to my wife
and I’m going to kill you.”
Just because
my actions brought it on,
doesn’t make my
PTSD
any less crippling.
Oh! This is really foreboding, yikes.
ReplyDeleteHey a poem a day in November? Me too! Go Mosk Go!
On Nov 2, 1994 I was the recipient of a death threat. Very real. Very scary. She told her husband I raped her. I admitted sleeping with her but not raping her. No charges filed, as the police had evidence in her handwriting that contradicted her accusation. Still, I jump at the phone. Thanks - write this month - I'm doing only short sketches.
DeleteOh my..that's chilling! The need to punish oneself for real or imagined mistakes...wonderfully crafted! Thanks so much for joining in. Stay tuned...this will run all month!
ReplyDeleteThanks, yes 1994 was a rough year. Thanks.
DeleteVery gripping poem...the fact that it starts with that phone ring...I felt moved from the beginning.
ReplyDeleteThanks, I had to google translate your name and loved it.
Delete"nor change the ringtone" I think I know the feeling for I had to change my ringtone to prevent digging my heart. Nice.
ReplyDeleteThanks, a bit of poetic license there as these were the days before ringtones, but you get the idea. Thanks.
DeleteWow! This is powerful and gripping and sad at the same time.
ReplyDeleteThe saint who knows he/she is a sinner. And yes, I agree, being an artist is better...
DeleteElizabeth
Thanks,it was powerful and gripping to live it.
DeleteElizabeth, yes being an artist is way better.
Delete