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Wedding Band by Monica Sword [a poem]

The baby slept in the back bedroom
of the twelve-by-sixty foot trailer
when I accepted his polite invitation
to discuss our estranged situation.

He began his tippy-toed dance
like a champ in a Golden Gloves ring
feinting, gesturing, hissing –
c’mon, fucker, c’mon!

He snatched me from the cold tile floor
where the blood had begun to spread
from a new hole he made in my head
which he blamed on the ring on his finger.

He offered a ride to the physician
but I declined the imposition
so the baby could sleep in the back
of the twelve-by-sixty foot trailer.
Monica Sword is a survivor of domestic violence. She grew up in Wisconsin and after retiring from a career in information technology, spent a year on Virgin Gorda in the British Virgin Islands. She now lives with her loving husband/soulmate near the central west coast of Florida where she writes on her blog about learning to live a full life following the loss of her only child. When words escape her, she can be found painting on canvas or digitally as an alternate form of expression.


  • Vandana

    What a powerful and haunting poem! Thank you for being the Beauty that you wish to see in the world and allowing others to know there is a different way….

  • Debra

    Bless you for making art out of this horrific event, Monica. Your poem is beautiful Your words resonate even when I shy away from this reminder. I’ve known the power of that punch. And live with the scars to this day. Sending hugs to you and all the other survivors who read this. xoxox

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