First Real Fight


I fought my stepson, who is autistic
and suddenly violent. He hit me again
and again, leaving handprints in bruises
on my forearms and back. I kicked,
karate-style, in an effort to keep our distance.

I pushed him down on his bed , grabbed
his arms, and tucked them under mine.
Like a wild cat, he sat still, then sprung,
twisting feverishly until the motion set him free.

Before swinging again, he picked up my slippers,
the white Deerfoams that flew off when I kicked,
and whipped them at my face. I didn’t want
to get hurt. I didn’t want to hurt him.
And this is now.
I’m five inches taller, fifty pounds heavier.
This is now.

One year from now,
two years from now…

Lord help me.

-lrfg
Back to top