When daddy was drunk,
I always hid; sometimes
hours in the bathtub
listening to him pee
from behind
the shower curtain.
He found me once,
under the bed;
my eyes shut
against the scent
of his sour breath.
Threw me across the room
by my hair. Next day,
said he’d never hurt me;
beat me for lying.
When mommy was drunk,
she hid inside a bottle,
turned up the music
until the neighbors
rapped on the wall
with a broomstick.
She bought an old trunk,
told daddy she kept
blankets locked in there.
I peered out of that keyhole,
watched her lie.
I never get drunk,
grew up covered in bruises;
dark, rich colors like wine;
brandy spun before the fire.
Married now,
four boys;
unblemished, unscarred.
We’re playing a game.
My youngest counts to ten,
looks all through the house
for me,
finds me hiding
under the bed. He can’t
understand why I’m crying.
Angel Zapata was born in NYC, but currently resides just outside of Augusta, Georgia. Some of his flash fiction and poetry has appeared or is forthcoming on FicShun, Flashes in the Dark, Every Day Fiction, Every Day Poets, Membra Disjecta and Doorknobs & Bodypaint. He is husband to his blond goddess and father of four boys obsessed with all things ninja. Please visit his blog at: http://www.myspace.com/angeldzapata.
loading...
24 Responses to “HIDE AND SEEK • by Angel Zapata”
Comments
« A BUDDHA’S WALK • by Steve Goble | Home | FISH • by Amy Corbin »
May 7th, 2009 at 12:40 am
Wow!
A high 5 from me!
May 7th, 2009 at 6:28 am
Powerful stuff!
May 7th, 2009 at 6:37 am
Very powerful, indeed. Some wounds never truly heal. Well done, Angel!
May 7th, 2009 at 6:39 am
Whew! Heart-wrenching.
May 7th, 2009 at 7:00 am
pitiful pitiful pitiful. nicely done!
May 7th, 2009 at 7:42 am
I also don’t understand why the voice of the poem is crying.
May 7th, 2009 at 9:30 am
I understand, Angel.
May 7th, 2009 at 10:05 am
Be proud you have broken the pattern, Angel. So often this behaviour repeats itself down through the generations.
Back to the poem – a hurtful and emotional read. And a 5…
May 7th, 2009 at 12:34 pm
Very well done, Angel.
–dj
May 7th, 2009 at 2:19 pm
Very depressing piece; reads like a therapy session, and hopefully, the reality of it could be helpful. Definitely deserves a 5.
May 7th, 2009 at 2:19 pm
Very good. Heart-wrenching.
Roberta: He’s crying because being under the bed reminds him of the other time he hid under the bed.
May 7th, 2009 at 3:54 pm
Amazing how you captured the essence of tremendous pain and joy in the same story . . . writing is a good release of past sorrows, and you my friend, have found a very fine, noble outlet to express your life of yesterday and today. I, too, have the courage to write about such misery, but not the strength to show others such intimate sadness. Bravo.
May 7th, 2009 at 5:07 pm
Nobody does this type of writing better than you Angel.
-Jay
May 7th, 2009 at 5:28 pm
Angel, this is a sobering poem. I lived this life myself.
I began to write to heal. I hope it has helped you. This is very good.
May 7th, 2009 at 6:45 pm
This has totally swept me off my feet. Excellent.
May 7th, 2009 at 8:33 pm
Thank you Angel. Of course I gave it a five!
May 7th, 2009 at 9:54 pm
Superb! Well done! Definitely a five! Incredible imagery. Killer ending..
May 7th, 2009 at 10:10 pm
“brandy spun before the fire”
that is SO good..i want to steal it…slip it in my pocket when nobody is looking so i can find it there later like a beautiful surprise.
May 7th, 2009 at 10:35 pm
Trunks and truths,
and under bed bruisings ~
Angel,
you write past pain.
That’s a mighty big journey.
~ Absolutely*Kate
May 7th, 2009 at 10:57 pm
Powerful, Complete, and Courageous. A Five.
May 8th, 2009 at 6:57 am
Amy – That was to him a long time ago and something that he escaped from. Maybe Sharon has another explanation she could share with us. I thought of the saying “coming and going under the bed,” but it doesn’t seem borne out by the poem.
May 11th, 2009 at 10:50 am
powerful stuff angel. i know your boys mean everything to you. they are lucky YOU are their dad.
July 30th, 2009 at 10:16 pm
One of the slush readers here. The punch of that ending–threw me for a loop and brought a sudden, unexpected rush of tears to my eyes. How often does poetry–or any art–achieve that? Five stars from me, too.
October 20th, 2009 at 2:45 pm
Excellent! Things come back to haunt us, don’t they. This is very well expressed. It makes the reader believe, and empathize.