The Matador's WifeA Poem by Lewis Davis-Norman30th December 2012 - My latest work, something a bit different to what I usually do but nonetheless one of my favourites. Hope you enjoy.
Alert. Precise. The Matador's wife. Fights battles of her own all day, through 'til night. Walks home in the dark, sticking to streetlights.
Alone. Children. A labouring job. Armed with a whisk and a blood-stained teacloth She sits in the dark to quietly sob.
She cooks the dinner but will he return? 'Be optimistic, or the heart will yearn.'
The children awake, calling the Matador His wife approaches the bedroom door Her tears dripping on the floor,
But she wipes them away, a pillar of hope. She has become the familial rope Bound tightly, together they cope.
A knock at the door on Sunday morn The mother's spirit is reborn As in the hall stands the Matador.
The brazen figure of a man Dressed head to toe in desert tan Returning from Afghanistan.
© 2013 Lewis Davis-NormanFeatured Review
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