The tone in her voice told me I had gone too far,
the tear down her cheek another scar
inflicted upon an already bruised loving heart.
The look in her eyes cause me to shudder,
the clench of her jaw stimulates a twitch of her lip,
to quell and dissipate words she would love to spew,
but will not,
instead, scream into deep recesses of her brain.
The stoop of her shoulders, hands balled into fists' drill into her waist
with legs spread taunt,
all positive signs to find an escape route.
As I turn and crawl away I hear her say,
if you were not a baby, there would be the devil to pay.
There was nothing I could say,
at nine months,
language was scheduled for another day,
so I just went about my way,
next time I see mom, she will give me a hug, everything again okay.
Until the next time.
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