Air escapes me and I force back tears. His fist of rock iron to my abdomen cannot undo me. Fireworks explode in the distance.
Mother gazes on. Sympathetic. Stoic.
I am knitted from her womb, sturdier than iron. Mother is Gaia. I am virgin coal, he is molten anger only cooled by soft waves of alchohol.
Fists unclench. Strong hands that sometimes hold me in the wake of delirious nightmares reach for his gin bottle.
I swallow my pain. Hold my chin high. He approvingly passes me a sparkler.
Ill-matched love made me a diamond.
Happy Independence Day.
I write because it’s better to let all the things that go bump in the night loose on paper, rather than let them crawl around inside my head.