She left me snowdrops

she sends
innocent looking texts
begging my attention, with
overblown love, extravagant kisses
and oft repeated claims of how she longs
to see me,of how greatly she misses me
her words sometimes timerous,
occasionally belligerant
but more often with
faint humility.

she left me snowdrops

however her words sound I need to ignore them,
sincere they may be; I know she adores me, but I also know she wants to destroy me
and as the months stretch, my grief for her recedes an inch
as if she were already dead

but she left me snowdrops
fragrant snowdrops, promising spring
and fresh beginnings

I get regular reminders of her damaging acts,  her statements
to the cops, exempt from facts, false allegations of rape and abuses,
directed at any man who flatly refuses to satisfy her single important aim
by feeding her collapsing greedy veins, and anyone who’s careless enough to care,
will quickly fall into her snare. her former beauty has long since fled,
so she sells ugliness and shame instead. there are plenty
of men with degraded tastes; there are plenty
of men with a longing to abase.

but she left me snowdrops
snowdrops, shy, downcast, not quite meeting my eye
fragrant snowdrops, promising spring
and fresh beginnings

I know her serenade is designed to trap
once she’s lulled me to sleep she’ll bite and snap
she has a dangerous ability to drive me mad
stealing my mind of all the sense I have

but she left me snowdrops
snowdrops, my greatest floral weakness
snowdrops, shy, downcast, not quite meeting my eye
fragrant snowdrops, promising spring
and fresh beginnings

she is broken, I am ripped
I understand she wants to slip
beneath my skin, and break me apart
so she can sink her teeth into my heart
thinking it will finally make us one
tie us in a death-knot
that can never be
undone

so she left me snowdrops
my beloved, lost child left me snowdrops
tiny, dripping tears

©Jane Paterson Basil

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12 thoughts on “She left me snowdrops

  1. Oh Jane I just want to fly over there and give you a hug. I cried when I read this it just feels like you are emptying everything into this poem. Open and raw and beautiful. A hard thing to go through with a child, adult or not. Take care, keep writing and when is your book of poetry and prose coming out?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It’s no longer a mix of the two. It’s just prose, and I don’t know whether it will be published. I’m giving it a final polish, and have got through a third of it, but it’s slow going now, because in between all of my children’s crises and various other interruptions all I want to do is write a poem about whatever is currently on my mind.
      I’d like to be placed in a locked room with a bed, a laptop and a pile of books, and left alone for a while.

      Like

    1. I shy away from the sadness that feel over Laura, but every so often I see her, and afterwards I usually curl up on the floor until the pain overflows into poetry. There’s nowhere else for it to go. I saw her a few days ago, and have somehow kept it together until now, but it’s eating away at me, and I think it’s time to write it down.

      Like

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