The Descent by Diana Martinez

The descent
by Diana Martinez

The descent into madness
always began with the frying
of doughnuts.

Classical music would resonate in the air
with the banging of kettle drums;
the sharp staccato of violin strings.

The descent would come
in the darkness of the morning hours
long before the sun would rise.

He would sit in his chair,
holding his head in his hands.
His eyes would be swollen and red from the weeping.


As small children,we would get up
to sneak around the wall to see him.
This man whose hands held the belt
that beat upon his eldest son.

The death threats that he made that
he failed to make them come to pass.
My brother curled up on the ground in fetal position.
This man who would flail his son's body
on the ground.

We watched as small children, not able to move to protect,
not able to do anything except watch.
This man whose hands made the sweet doughnuts
and cooked pot roast in the chef's pan.

He would soon leave our home as he did each winter.
Mother would sign the papers .
We knew he was gone for a season.

The winters were warmer then.
This man would come back in the spring
calmer-no longer weeping.

Father would be able to laugh with us again.
We would climb on to his lap to watch old movies on the black and white tv.
The descent into madness stopped for this season.


Notes:
Diana Martinez is a Central Valley poet. She also runs a poetry group.

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