“At home we argue
Over who is right and who is wrong,
Though the debate is much deeper than that.
It’s whether or not we have drifted apart beyond repair.
As the moments pass,
Our voices reach new highs.
You then push me down
And stand over me with a raised right fist.
You hit me.
Again and again.
There is a faint cry, a whimper.
And with your bloody, split knuckles,
You stand up sighing.
Who we are ends,
A voice is screaming to run
we hang in heavy silence.
Your face is now blank.
Your eyes, dark and empty.
My head raises to look at you
With hesitation and with fear.
I cannot decide if you are a new weapon
Or the same man I loved.
I walk to the table, and continue eating.
I liked us better the way we were,
But we were always changing.”
-This is an imitation poem based off of the amazing Margaret Atwood’s “They eat out”-