She sits alone,

crouched in the darkness,

holding up her knees

with thin, spindly arms.

Dried tears have created a track

on her dirt streaked face.

Her blue eyes have lost their charm.

Her thin, dry lips form silent words:

Please, not again.

A door opens, a man enters.

She cowers in fear as he closes

and she can smell

his stinking beer and his anger.

She says nothing, does nothing.

She is fearful.

Outside the shed, a child stands

quietly watching her.

Tears glisten in his eyes

as he cries out: Mother!

The man, the beast, turns

and look at him drunkenly,

then pushes the child hard.

Keep out! he roars.

The child winces as he falls,

yet he looks on,

he cannot bear it,

yet he looks on.

The man shuts the door on him,

his mother screams inside.

Hours later, the man has left,

the woman lies on the floor,

broken, battered,

caked with blood, sweat and grime.

Slowly, the child opens the door

with his tiny little hand

and he toddles in

He walks t the mother

as she looks at him

and he holds her tight.

She holds him too,

and cries.

It’s alright, it’s ok, the child whispers the words.

But they both know the truth – it never will be.

Silently, they pray.

Now the child is the mother, and the mother the child.