THOUGHTS OF A POET IN THE RAIN

Chapter one: How do I love thee, let me count thy bruises.

He stood in front of her rubbing the knuckles on his right hand staring down at her where she sat on a wooden chair in front of him. He growled as she reached up to where blood trickled from the bruised flesh below her right eye. Touched it, saw the blood, then lowering her arms clasped her hands in front of her on her lap. Slowly she looked up at him with tears racing down to her chin. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” he voice trembled. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The year was 1926. She was just 19 and he was 27.

He slapped her hard jerking her head to the left. She slowly recovered. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“So, my mother and sister are liars?” Blood stood against the vows of marriage. Sometimes blood is stronger, and in this case it was. “They saw you at the theater”

“No,” her voice wavered, “no they, if anyone it was Virginia and all I did was acknowledge an old school friend.”

“Who you then went into the movies with.”

“He had his girlfriend with him”

“You sat with him.”

“I sat with them, not with him,” she said her face hurting her badly. Her tongue slipped sideways and found a tooth had been dislodged.

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