by Diane Elayne Dees
"In the City of Shreveport, we have a true epidemic of domestic violence….”
—Shreveport City Council Member Grayson Boucher
—Shreveport City Council Member Grayson Boucher
When I was a little girl, my parents took me
on a rare outing downtown; my mother’s
face and neck were free of bruises,
so we could roam freely among other families.
As we crossed a busy Shreveport street,
a man shoved a woman against a car
and began hitting her with his fists.
No one intervened. Finally, a policeman arrived,
and pulled the man off the woman. “Listen,”
he advised: “Take her home and do that.”
At that moment, I thought I understood
everything about my mother’s bruises.
It would be years before I understood
that—even if a policeman had taken
my father to jail—he would not have stayed
there. And even if he had, there was nowhere
for my mother to go. And even if there were,
the slow-dripping acid of trauma had already
eaten away her soul, and left burn marks
where there had once been beauty and creativity.
The killer in Shreveport had “dark thoughts,”
and now, eight children are dead. His wife
thought that she had escaped, but now she lies
in a hospital, with critical wounds. How do you
end an epidemic that courses through decades,
neighborhoods, churches, and income brackets,
and whose victims—if they live—become carriers
of trauma, fear, rage, and assorted deadly germs
that damage brains and flatten the souls of the unborn?
on a rare outing downtown; my mother’s
face and neck were free of bruises,
so we could roam freely among other families.
As we crossed a busy Shreveport street,
a man shoved a woman against a car
and began hitting her with his fists.
No one intervened. Finally, a policeman arrived,
and pulled the man off the woman. “Listen,”
he advised: “Take her home and do that.”
At that moment, I thought I understood
everything about my mother’s bruises.
It would be years before I understood
that—even if a policeman had taken
my father to jail—he would not have stayed
there. And even if he had, there was nowhere
for my mother to go. And even if there were,
the slow-dripping acid of trauma had already
eaten away her soul, and left burn marks
where there had once been beauty and creativity.
The killer in Shreveport had “dark thoughts,”
and now, eight children are dead. His wife
thought that she had escaped, but now she lies
in a hospital, with critical wounds. How do you
end an epidemic that courses through decades,
neighborhoods, churches, and income brackets,
and whose victims—if they live—become carriers
of trauma, fear, rage, and assorted deadly germs
that damage brains and flatten the souls of the unborn?
Diane Elayne Dees is the author of the chapbooks, Coronary Truth (Kelsay Books), The Last Time I Saw You (Finishing Line Press), The Wild Parrots of Marigny (Querencia Press), and I Can't Recall Exactly When I Died (Kelsay Books). Diane, who lives in Covington, Louisiana, also publishes Women Who Serve, a blog that delivers news and commentary on women’s professional tennis throughout the world. Her author blog is Diane Elayne Dees: Poet and Writer-at-Large.
