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Quiet Survival... [East Main St story]

The long walk to the park
On a hot summer day
The wading pool and fountain
Gurgling, splashing loudly

Grape Kool-Aid with melting ice cubes
Peanut butter sandwiches
My sisters and I playing tag
Tumbling rough

Mom looking like she needs the rest
Under the big tree
In the shade
Quiet

I know now, what she was thinking
He would be paycheck drunk
Late tonight, no supper
Sleeping it off tomorrow

We would be out early
Shhhhh...
Survival is being quiet
So he doesn't notice us

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Last few words: 
It was staring me in the face... I couldn't believe that no one had mentioned that it might be a good idea to let the next to last line say [quiet] instead of [good].
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

I hear you and understand all to well

Chrys

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Sometimes it just surfaces, it's always there and people don't understand that even now, so many, many years gone by;
it can come flooding back. I guess that Mother's Day is the trigger here. ~ Gee.
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author comment

Excellent title. I would imagine something like this would always lie just below the surface. Thank goodness for your gift of writing.
Thanks,
L

Thank goodness for my writing. It was a long time before I could get up the nerve to write about it. Even now, I have trouble with it; like it happened to someone else. I guess that it is something that many don't talk about, let alone write about.
Anyway, glad that you understand. ~ Geezer.
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There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.

author comment

Hi, Geezer,
Coming back to this one since you changed 'good' to 'quiet' - somehow I think that the two words are very interchangeable, especially in this circumstance. There was a time when the cold, old adage was that 'children are to be seen and not heard' reflected on good behavior. I could see that burrowing into a child's mind during such a confusing, stressful time. I like both words and relate both to your title. This poem is timeless - lots of families go through this in every generation.
Thanks!
L

and the many people that have given me the courage to write about this insidious disease of alcohol dependency and the resulting domestic abuse. Over my years here, I have had the chance to read some works that have dealt with domestic abuse and the fear and hate of spouses. I thought maybe it was time for it to be seen through the eyes of children. Thank you all for your compassionate remarks. ~ Geezer.
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There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.

author comment

Hi Gee. I also hear you. Well written and congrats for having the courage to share with Neopoet family. Domestic abuse is worse with this pandemic. Women and children are dying by the dozens. In Argentina, one woman every 36 hours dies by some sort of violence. So imagine all the parentless children...
Heart wrenching words, but they should be shared, as you have done.

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

I am glad that you think that it is a good piece of work. I guess that social norms don't let it be spoken of, other than in
group therapy or among those that suffer from it, but if we continue to speak out, maybe someday it will be a rare thing. ~ Geezer.
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There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.

author comment
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