My Monster (3)

Poem #3 in a three part series about the man I loved and feared...This was written after he died, and writing it brought an unexplainable calm to me.

He was like Dr. Frankenstein’s monster,
Big and scary, sometimes violent, never evil,
No, not a hero, but not a villain either,
With an enormous heart sewed inside his chest.

 

 

 

 

His creation was accidental, not anticipated
(The monster of legend had a father at least)
Boyhood marred with beatings, starvation, neglect;
His back bore patchwork scars resembling sutures

 

 

He lumbered into my coffee shop, hunched over,
A look of defeat from years of continued failures,
Dragging chains of uncontrolled fits of anger.
Our eyes met, and I knew: I must save this man.

 

With our children, he thought he’d be gentle, loving --
But he scared one who hid; the monster pursued in rage.
The next met ire with ire; the monster lost control.
Soon both learned to hide; he tried, he cried, he died.

 

I was the bride of Dr. Frankenstein’s monster.
I knew his soul: goodness drowned in beastly pain.
He was scary, not evil; neither hero nor villain
Just a protagonist antagonized by shadows of his past.

 

Reviews

[lori c]

this is really personal and the tease of change and the agony of reality are apparent. no real details given and that is good. you acknowledge seeing both sides of this man, something often not visible in the midst of the pain. its evident that some time passed before the writing of this. the images in the third and fifth stanzas tie well into the imagery of dr frankenstein's monster. nice continuum. overall, this is well done. and i can see where it would be cathartic when accomplished.