blue lights out the window

I remember
my father laughing,
his blue eyes lit up
as he arrived home
at one a.m.
his heart good for the moment,
before the darkness
of too much
scotch took hold.
I remember
his hands pulling at my
mother's black hair,
the twist of her
arm
as it broke.
the glass on the floor.
her blood,
crimson and rich,
the scratch on his cheek,
unshaven
and cold. I remember
the strange words
they said to one
another, the knife
that cut the telephone
cord
after she called
for help.
the pounding at the door.
the blue lights
spinning out the windows,
once more.