Single Mother

She once believed in love.

And it left her a stranded single mother
with a restraining order and a daughter
too young and simpleminded to see
her father and not flinch.
To see her mother and not cry,
but hope a smile will make
her believe in love again;
a hug will treat the throbbing
wounds from his wallop.

Sometimes she looks at her daughter
and sees the worse parts of him conniving.
Growing into a figment of her worst nightmare.
A spitting image vomiting the love out of her.
Every time she sips from the golden flask of his memory –
it becomes the quickest way for her to get wasted off hatred.

If she could I’m sure she would snap
Cupid’s bow and arrow in half and throw it on
top of the pile of broken promises in her diary.

She writes to keep from counting her scars;
to keep from reading the bomb threats
in her mind out loud for the world to hear.

Nowadays her daughter and art are the only
compasses love can use to find her again.

I hope she returns home safely one day.