She was perched upon a stump

hurling obscenities at the men

who had hurt her so long ago.

Heather's face was a beet-like red

and jagged, angry lines made her

seem much older than her 30 years.

The browned leaves fell from the trees

as if they were cowering

from the ferocity of her tirade.

Broken limbs lay scattered on the ground,

having been used to smash the skulls

of invisible lovers who circled her, smirking.

Her throat had become a channel for a flood

of hatred, passion, heartbreak, depression,

love, jealousy, sorrow, despair and fury.

Eventually she ran out of epithets;

Heather then settled for pure, raw screaming

and she did not cease until her voice gave out,

reduced to little more than a pitiable rasp.

Then, lowering her arms, she closed her mouth

and, without even stooping to pick up her clothes,

she walked away.

NOTES: This poem was inspired by a couple of friends of mine, both of whom had come from very rough childhoods, and who had also had their shares of "man trouble" in their adulthood. Looking back, there are quite a few women I have known who could make excellent models for "Heather".

I originally intended this and another poem to be a circle of poems about a woman growing up with abuse and abandonment, and her eventual salvation. Unfortunately I still have only the two poems to go on. However, in 1999 I did write a short script based on the two "Heather poems", named "Heather's Song".