Headline:
People say leaving is the hardest part. It’s not. But it is a very terrifying first step. In the middle of the night, I took my three kids and fled to escape the hell that had become our home. This is my experience that night. This is my first step.

I Watch Them Sleep
Inside me roars the sort of storm that brings about terror.
My spirit is shrunken, sunken, cowering, and endangered.
But outside I appear calm, like the quiet, cool night around us.
No visible, telling signs of distress, aside from my trembling hands.

My respiration was shallow; so tensely forced and controlled
Intentionally labored to stop my chest from heaving
Total silence, despite the loud heartbeat pulsating in my ears
I must remain stoic; they can’t know I’m terrified of leaving.

The three pairs of little feet in a row lined up right behind me
Are bouncing atop boxes and bags chaotically piled on the floorboard
I can’t let them know the truth; that they are in a nightmare wide-awake
I already fear any sense of safety will not be granted to them anymore.

Holding my breath, statue stiff, I need to get out of the driveway.
And brief relief does brush past me, when pulling into the street.
A freedom short-lived, as my mind hastily races in a circular motion
Where are we going? What am I doing? The plan stopped at, we leave

Under the protection of the dark, secretly we move with no destination
Trusting, innocent, defenseless littles fully dependent on my sanity
The weight of that is not lost on me. Its reality is hopelessly crushing.
But this perilous escape is for them and could not be done politely.

The soft chatter continues, as I pull into a big, empty parking lot.
I must get myself together and pull out at least one useful thought.
They will be restless soon, and I need to make this appear normal.
Think! What is the next right thing? I must move. It is too late to stop.

No chance for an answer, as I am heaved back in the moment by a voice.
A soft, small voice behind me finally asks, “Mommy are you ok?”.
And just like, I remember who I am to them. Head up, shoulders back
Reaching back to try to provide uncertain reassurance and to myself pray

Unlike other times, I feel many little fingers grab back, so tightly.
Turning around, I see all our hands are a messy constellation of love.
My heart starts to glow. It’s now burning; strength quickly returning
My bruised-up hands no longer shake; I place them on the wheel.

I put on a song. Try to sing along and get us to a safe place for tonight.
Pushing a cumbersome cart heavy with piles of stuff; a toddler on top.
I look like a drunken clown as the exhaustion is almost incapacitating
Hitting anything stationary; picking up loose items as even more drop

Finally, ungracefully we pass through the threshold of our temporary home
There is this glaring oddity. The littles seem so carefree after so much pain.
I realize then, that the absence of fear allows the once joyful child to return.
They lay down without resistance, unlike other nights, another change

I dig through the mess for a book to read before bed, as was our routine.
In what seems like minutes, all three heads are down and sleeping deeply.
The first easy breath comes; though I know the worst is yet to come
I am no longer powerless. Finally, at peace, I sit; I sit and watch them sleep.

Everyone says you are evil,
That you tried to ruin my life.
What they forget is that my life
Is not ruined, because I have
Never known it without you.

Praying for your absence
Seems odd, even unnatural
To me. You have become an
Integral part of my life;
Every decision I have made
Involved you. To pray that
You would leave overnight
Would leave me desolate, but

I suppose I have other
Places to go; decisions to make:
Neither of which involve you.

Learning to live without you
Is an undertaking I had
Always wanted, but now that
It is a reality, I am not sure
Where to begin, or how to
Begin. People say that this
Is the “beauty of it all,” and
Perhaps that is true,
But I am beginning with something new.

Expectations placed upon me now
Cannot be met overnight. Maybe you know this,
So to protect me from
Impending failure, you continue to
Reside within my mind.

Perhaps I do not need your misguided
Protection. The principles you have instilled
Within me have caused more
Hinderances than they have relief.

Still, I cannot help but pity your
Tireless efforts. I can see now that
You were tired, and I was ungrateful.
Or maybe you were not trying to protect
Me at all. It could very well be that
You were trapped, trying to escape, but

You never knew how.

One Day in December

Letters can express so many feelings—love, joy, sadness, fear, longing, hope. This is about a terrible letter; one of the hardest I’ve ever written.

We met at a dance. He was almost two years older, and we danced all night. I fell in love, as best as a fifteen-year-old can.

The only daughter of four rowdy brothers, I wasn’t allowed to date until I turned sixteen. But the next day when John knocked on the door and introduced himself, my skeptical, conservative parents were enormously impressed. It didn’t hurt that he was the only child of an only child and stood to inherit a comfortable amount of money.

His parents, who needed a daughter-in-law who would fit in socially, readily gave their stamp of approval.

For the next two years my life was a whirlwind of dances, movies, proms, church, dinners, picnics, fishing, traveling. He bought me flowers and expensive gifts for no special occasion. He presented me with an engagement ring with a diamond from his grandmother’s wedding ring.

My future was scripted—after graduation, I’d be a stay-at-home mom with several children, hosting card parties and play dates, eventually caring for our parents when they grew old.

But on December 1, 1969, the trajectory of my life changed, although I didn’t realize it at the time. That Monday night, the entire nation was glued to their television sets watching representatives of the Selective Service System reach into a glass jar 366 times and pull out a pellet containing a slip of paper that would match a date in the calendar year. This would determine the order of conscription into the U.S. Army.

The fifth date pulled was October 18—John’s birthday.

He would be going to Viet Nam.

February 1, he left for boot camp. I graduated high school in May.
It was understood—but unspoken—that I would continue to live with my parents while planning our wedding that was to happen upon his return from Viet Nam. He wanted to be standing at the front of the church in his dress uniform as I came down the aisle. My father would hand me over to John, then step away.

But the day after he left, it was though someone opened all the doors and windows—everything seemed lighter, airier. I had the freedom to make my own decisions, time to myself and time to hang out with friends. It was a heady experience and every morning I woke excited to start a new day. I graduated, got a job, and then, in a rush of independence, an apartment. John wrote that he did not approve of me living alone.

I found it oddly joyful to pay my own bills, balance a checkbook, buy groceries. I taught myself to cook and reveled in the quiet aloneness.

I went to parties and made poor decisions. When my friends left for college, I ached to join them.

I dated other men.

And soon, I started getting a lot of pressure to help plan the wedding. My mother booked the church. His mother booked the Country Club. My fiancé wrote, begging for details—what did the invitations look like? How many bridesmaids? Flowers, food, honeymoon, music—a dizzying number of details.

***

One evening, alone in my apartment, I sat with pen and paper and did a horrible thing, but also the only thing I could do—
“Dear John,”

***

My mother was devastated. His parents were outraged.

I broke his heart. Of course, I did.

A year later I stepped into my first class at the university, thrilled, terrified. Three years later I graduated.

I eventually married and eventually had children.

I’d like to say I didn’t look back, but I did, mentally wishing him every happiness. He was a good person. He just wasn’t right for me.

Had it not been for December 1, 1969, I doubt that I would be the woman I am today—strong, resilient, purposeful, and, most importantly, free to make my own decisions.

Two thousand plus miles
from home.
Time to surrender.
Twenty two years
of fight.
Feasible no more.
Projected outcome
Manifested.
No escape.
Options presented.
Machines and humans
would do.
New lifestyle
Initiated.
Strict diet,
Fluid restrictions,
Lifeline in arm,
Modified activities,
Life schedule altered.
Two needles,
Three hours,
Three days
Weekly.
Intimate relations
Mechanical
for sustenance.
The process
Challenging
yet, just another thing.
Going with the flow
as life moves on.
Back to work.
Balancing act engaged.
The essence of time
Profound.
Grad school in view.
Success achieved.
Own business pursued.
Rewards ensued.
Twenty four years later
Still vertical.
New ventures in sight.
The sun will always shine.

The pandemic hit
I quit
All went south
Forever broken, I frown
Should have believed her
Setting the features

Your what drove her
I thought it was over
I gave up on trying
Day after day I lie here dying
This is my life
Just give me the knife
Trapped in a loup
Someone remove this Damn Hula Hoop

We move and move and moved again
Oh God, please tell me when
Strapped
I find myself trapped
Her world stolen
Lifeless in motion
Ripped from the streets
I will not be beat

I run and hide
This is no fun, she cried
Locked up
Corrupt
Confined
Is this what you had in mind
Stories over, the end
My life, where I shall spend

Never getting out
My veins a drought
Sweet and naive
Kidnapped, I believe
What right do you have
Attacked
Soon you will feel the impact

This insane world
Flipped and swirled
Pinned down
Should have never moved to this Godforsaken Town

Mother
I will not suffer
I will not die here with you
I know the truth
Forgotten
We shall not be in here rotting
Left behind
This is not what I designed
Unfound
I will rise from underground
Not a sound
Silence
My guidance
A protector
I Am Now the Director

I will scream and shout
Whale my hands and feet about
Bring the world down with me
Open your eyes you shall see
For you will pay too
Your time is due
I will show you well
Oh boy am I gonna tell

Who knew
The me that was me
I will forever be
This clock has awakened
Tick Tock Taken
My innocence
I am Magnificent
I will not bow
This is not allowed
My future scene
For I am Queen

With my heart pounding faster than a freight train, and my mind spinning madly out of my control, every ounce of my survival instinct forbade me from doing it.
But I had to do it, I wanted to do it.
It had always been my secret, whimsical fetish. A desire that I had harbored deep down in some untapped part of my heart.
Oh, I wanted to do this so bad!
But should I? And could I?
I felt apprehensive, I felt very diffident.
Climbing up the seemingly unending bridge, walking up to the lethal ledge, I felt my heart sinking down my throat and my intellect going theoretically dead. As I got sized up, harnessed and bounded, the alarming realization dawned on me that I had at that very moment lost control. I had forfeited my last chance to quit. There was no escape. I had no choice.
But I had to do it. I must do it.
For there was too much at stake. My pride, my ego, my unfulfilled dream, my claim to fame, my commitment to myself.
Opposing every muscle and thought in my body that was operating overdrive to pull me away from gravity, I closed my eyes and took the deadly plunge.
As I plummeted down 410 feet, blood gushing through every crevice in my head, I felt surprisingly liberated. The harness felt non-existent. I felt untethered. I felt free!
I felt alive!
But what I was oblivious to, was that the bungy jump down was a daunting job just half done. The horror of the act of jumping was thwarted by the suddenness of the savage recoil back up!
My body flayed like a pendulum at the bottom for a few seconds only to be pulled aggressively up a few hundred feet mid-air!
In those few fleeting moments, I felt like I had traversed through numerous celestial realms, both physically and emotionally.
And then just like that, it was done!
As I was maneuvered into a boat and onto to familiar ground at the end of this personal feat, I felt something new.I felt satiated, I felt accomplished!
I had proved a point— To me!
I had overcome my fears, crushed my low self-esteem, defied my survival instinct, and had just let a comforting tranquillity come over me and take control.
I had let a feeling of submission, faith in a force above, and my free spirit guide me as I took that leap that day.
A leap of faith, quite literally!
Down 141 feet that day, I had found myself and made my way to the top of the world!

It All Started . . .

After several hours filled with fear, anxiety, tears of anger, and wounds of distrust, I ended up in a fetal position on my living room floor. After struggling to roll up in a seated position,I forced my shaky left foot to plant firm and stable, as a wingback chair offered to help me to my feet. Then it happened . .

The phrase “Until I learn to love myself, there isn’t going to be any love for anybody else.” emblazoned the forefront of my thoughts. Such a popular phrase in music and literature that should make complete sense. But my emotional blindness shadowed its true meaning for all these years.

I had been throwing tantrums all day! I wailed out, “I didn’t deserve that…”, “Why would he/they/you/whomever treat me that way?” and so on and so on. After my earlier battle to stand, I started a new rant, when suddenly the image in my bathroom mirror took on its own energy. It sounds outlandish, even fictional–it’s the only way I can describe that moment. My mirrored image caught my attention and scolded, with gritted jaw:

“STOP IT! This is YOUR problem and no one else’s.
JUST STOP! Stop taking this out on others.
YOU fell for it. YOU allowed this to happen to YOU!”

The next thing I remember was looking back at my image in the mirror, grinning from ear to ear. I had finally accepted complete responsibility for my own life. I got that all familiar phrase now.

Under a scorching hot shower, I washed away the negative energy of the past several hours. I slowed my breath, as the calming scent of aromatherapy body wash filled my nostrils and then it happened . . . LAUGHTER. Then a flood of self-awareness and acute in-sight:

To enjoy relationships at any level, a balance needs to exist between self-respect and mutual-respect, mixed in with laughter, touching, smiling, debating, and knowing when to “agree to disagree.”

Painful thoughts of so much time wasted with complicated and empty confrontations throughout so many flittered years suddenly became ridiculously SIMPLE. I had not recognized the concept until that moment, because it is so ridiculously SIMPLE.

Our society has increasingly been overly multi-tasked and run-ragged! Let’s get back to SIMPLE. Here’s my SIMPLE equation:

SIMPLE = HAPPINESS = SELF-ESTEEM = SELF-RESPECT = SELF-LOVE = LOVE

“TO LOVE SIMPLY IS TO SIMPLY LOVE”

which can be reversed!

“TO SIMPLY LOVE IS TO LOVE SIMPLY”

That day was the most significant turning point of my life.
After that day, I became a certified Yoga teacher, I performed at open mic events for the spoken word, I became more adventurous and spontaneous. I loved myself for the first time.
I’ve been restless
All these hours of sleep
Tears mixed with
New-found joy and old tossed loss
Stream down each cheek
Dreams of an old self
And my true self
Vying for status of champion
As a sportscaster commentates nearby.
My true self emerges victorious
Pointing to the beginning
Of a path, upon which
The Divine beckons me
To follow in faith.

Love, Me!

So I’m a veteran now..
Help me open this
C & P exam notification.
Look at that,
a winner has been selected
for my mental health’s raffle.
Combat activity report card reads as follows:
2 deployments for me
&
93% on the subject of
American history.

I felt the ghosts
of our heroes
let their tears fall
over my shoulder,
because the heaviest pen in
the planet struggled to check the box that was applicable to me.

I’ve been feeling decently
until recently,
when I was notified,
that everything
that I try to hide
in the tombs of my psyche,
will be –
resurrected,
dissected,
&
placed under
a microscope.
Picture my ptsd..
As a protozoa in a petri dish,
just small enough that I will never
feel whole (fill hole)
unless I open up,
I will never heal my soul…

Or maybe a telescope,

for everytime I’ve
spaced
out.

There’s a dissonance
in the distance that
slightly resembles the terror that
holds my happiness hostage.
“Incoming,”
Incoming,
Incoming!

any alarm
& this action movie
shapeshifts
into the horror genre,

Michael Bay
transforms into
Stephen King.

“It” is
“The Pet Semetery”
Where
“Cujo”
Is buried,
alarms also make me feel like
Jon Coffee walking
“The Green Mile.”

The Doha Accord was signed on
29 Feb, 2020.

Despite this alleged “armistice,”
the mirage in the dark was the target of many armaments..

12 bombs…I think?

like scalping your enemy,
i’ve tried to sever
that memory from my head,
but try as I might,
it hangs on by a thread,
how could I ever forget
the bomb that knocked me out of my bed?

& the subsequent phone call
to my parents..
telling them how
f*cking scared I was.

Oh, the heartbreak harbored in their eyes,
for only a handful of times,
have they seen their son cry,
but anytime I heard
Incoming, incoming, incoming..
It was at least possible
I might die.

I genuflect to inspect
These 17 coins I have earned,
Jaded-
I helped pack the grave dirt of far to many urns.
The petri begins denting from the inside.

Still Sealed by the gravity
That re-wrote history:
the fat man who crashed
bockscar in
Nagasaki.

Or
the little boy birthed
from enola gay
in Hiroshima.

“Do alarms really bother you?”
“Yes, it’s my heart beat playing hide and seek,”
“Is it getting any better?”
“Not really,
Every time I try & get some sleep
I hear the floorboards creak,”
“Isn’t it just another noise?”

“No.

It’s every thought I’ve ever had against my life,
The Grim Reaper’s sychte felt so cold upon my cheek…”

Im thankful for all of the help
that I have seeked,
for the last 4.5 years
I have my good days &
bad days,
& I’m hopeful that
one day,
it will be
Just Another Noise.
But until then,
I hope you see everyone is different after they’ve deployed.

If I were a flower I’d be a rose.
So ready for themes of love it sheds it weight in time.
“She loves me, she loves me not.”
Petal by petal I give away until I’m simply thorns.
First love. So sweet it hurts like a cavity of the soul.
Her smile so bewitching I gave it all to the unknown.
The feeling of driving to paradise on earth.
Beauty empowering me closer to the illuminating picture on the post card.
Vacationing in her warmth.
One by one, cloud by cloud the blue skies slowly wilted a gray.
I sway, hand in hand, in melancholic bliss waiting for a rainbow to split the clouds looming over.
No cover, adoration of the ever consuming rain gives hopeless fodder.
Consumed in gluttony of thine own sabotage.
Meddling; criminally in the poetic justice of one single word.
Love.
If only I told her that.
She was my Mona Lisa.
Da Vinci knew that beauty was not his possession, but the world’s to see.
Subject to a story of myth.
Lifted higher than icarus so I may learn how to fall; down.
Deeper, fallen into an abyss by the shot of cupids arrow.
Greeted by only a sign at the entrance reading “lost and found.”
A place in time existing only for lovers whose hearts wander off to the slaughter.
The unexplainable phenomena.
Wandering hopelessly until an improbable yet possible collision sets us back on course.
My lovely Andromeda to be.
A gift of fire I wish to collide with once more.

A Moment in Time

Prologue:
Fleeting moments of crisis
Oft change our lives
Powerful lessons learned quicky
Affecting our day to day lives

I prefer to dwell
On memorable events which
Make me smile,
Understanding the world in new ways

Interlude:
Thirty years have passed
Since our eyes met
In a chance encounter
Over a fishing trawler’s prow,
Queensland’s coast in sight
You gracefully moved
Through blue waters,
Surfing the bow’s wave
Rolling playfully onto your side
Briefly, our eyes met,
As we peered into each other’s souls
Memory forever tucked into my heart,
I descended from my ivory tower,
Rediscovering my humility

Epilogue, 30 years later:
Under an African full moon
A majestic bull elephant
Paused in a small clearing
I sensed his peaceful energy

Positioning my hand
Over a puppy mill momma’s heart
I felt her sadness wash over me
In a single wave of salty tears

I will always be drawn to other species
Looking for deeper understanding,
Until my eyes and heart become
Unable to connect with others

A chance encounter
Thirty years ago
Forever altered
My life’s trajectory

-Beth Arrowsmith
October 1, 2024

A poem written to my first grandson Finnely Moon.
The day the moon stood still.
The world stopped spinning you put me under a spell.
Watching you sleep brings me such peace.
I never thought I would experience this moment and have such peace.
Here cradled in my arms how you feel so small.
But you control the oceans, light, and time.
How mighty powerful you are.
Who would ever guess how much I would love this Moon?
You’ve opened up my heart and allowed me to bloom.
Every time I’m around you I want to write poetry.
You bring out the muse in me filled with such creativity.
I’ve never felt such joy as when I became your grandmother and any darkness left over from the years dissipated at the moment you were born.
You have showered me with your light and bathed me in your joy.
It’s penetrated the very marrow of my bones and has filled my soul.
The day the moon stood still.
The world stopped spinning you put me under a spell.
Watching you sleep brings me such peace.
I never thought I would experience this moment and get to watch you sleep.

My dear,
He does not care.
I’m sorry if you think he did.
He doesn’t think about you at night.
I’m sorry if you think that he does or did.
He doesn’t see your face in a crowded room.
He could be looking at the woman behind you or next to you.
He never did care about you.
He only loved you chasing him because it fed his ego.
It made his ego bigger while making your self-esteem smaller.
He doesn’t remember the feeling of kissing your lips or being intimate with you.
He’s kissed so many lips and there have been many he’s been intimate with that he’s forgotten.
He forgot the color of your eyes when the sun hits them and the shape of your eyes…
Even though you remember the words he told you to make you feel important.
And those words?
Those words were probably the same words he told all of those other women.
You remember everything because everything with him was special for you.
The intimacy, the love, the words, the smiles, and the touch.
He doesn’t talk about you or mention you to others or tell you how badly he misses you.
He never did.
You’ve questioned that and you always will.
It’s time to stop overthinking that.
You are the only fool who does that because again, you are feeding his ego which make his insecurities go away but make yours come to light.
He doesn’t love you anymore and maybe he never did and just said those words to you to get what he wanted because he had that leverage over you.
I’m sorry honey but it’s time to let him go even if he is the father of your child and was your first love.
Even if he has been the person you’ve gone to for all of your problems.
And has been what you thought was your best friend and believed that your conversations between you two were kept between the two of you when some of them weren’t.
Walk away…
Let go of that love you are holding to.
Nothing is going to be like it was because it never was genuine.
Let him go.
Let it go.
Stop standing there paralyzed by the pain of what was done to you.
Move on.