She didn't know it at the time,
But Mia was deprived of her childhood
All due to her
Burden-faced mother
And her
Whiskey-breathed father.

Instead of flowers blooming in her yard,
Bruises bloomed on her stomach,
And neck,
And wrist.
Instead of cookies baking,
Beer bottles were




Her burden-faced mother
Never knew
But each night before
Her mother came home
Mia's whiskey-breathed father
Would lay his pain-blooming fist
Upon her flesh.

Her mother only knew
Of his fist blooming pain
To her,
As Mia hid in the cupboard.
Tears sting her eyes
As she hears
Yells and screams.
Her hands breeze to
Her ears as
She rocked
Back and forth,
Back and forth,
Until her pain
Washed the memory
Away until tomorrow.

And she awoke
To the blistering pain
In her jaw.
She knew her mother would see.

When her burden-faced mother
Came walking home,
She saw the wound
Before Mia locked it away
In the cupboard.

More screams
And shouts.
More pounding of his fist.
But it is over all too soon.

Mia's burden-faced mother
Brought her out of the cupboard
And to her bed,
On the dirty mattress
On the grimy floor.

She tucked her under
The sea of blankets,
Her burden-face
That of a beaten angel.
Mia's burden-faced mother
Hugged her one last time
As she murmured
Broken promises
And a verse,
"You don't deserve this, Mia."

Mia looked to her ashen mother
And smiled as she spoke
Dire words,
"I do deserve this
You do not."
Mia's burden-faced mother
Looked bemused
As she turned off the light
And shut the door.

Mia hugged tight
To her bear
As her mother screamed
A broken scream,
As a gun blast
Went off.
Then another,
Mia cried herself to sleep.

Mia did not awake
To her whiskey-breathed father
Or her burden-faced mother.
Mia woke up to a scream,
One not made by human
Or angel.
One made by a car
With a funny blue man.
He took off his cap
At the sight
Of her blood-soaked feet.

She uttered one thing,
And one thing only,
"Are the Angels here
To render the fight?"


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