from the top

of the stairs peering
downwards, to where the
television blared some
black and white show,
i could hear the arguement
ensue, burn brightly
and raise smoke from below,
the rattling of dishes,
the holiday crash
of glasses and bottles,
the dull thump of a fist
going into a body,
beneath the mistletoe,
the scream and snap of
my mother's arm as she
reached to call the police
on this christmas eve.
leaving blood on the
presents wrapped and
ribboned beneath
the twinkling tree,
it was before he grabbed
the knife and severed
the long black cord,
before the shore patrol
beat on the doors with
clubs, awakening everyone,
everyone, but me.