Domestic Violence Shelter: The New Intern Hands in Her Summary of Intake Forms, With Her Notes in Italics

(Trigger warning: domestic / sexual violence)

1.) He hit me with a slotted spoon because I had hiccups.
She made me feel the knot on the back of her head.

2.) He sold our baby to a man who makes movies
featuring (she could not think of the word: pedophilia) sex babies.

3.) He laughed as he drove over our dog and her newborn puppies,
over and over, as the kids screamed in the backseat.
I went home and hugged my dog all night.

4.) I’m now blind in my right eye. I can never have children.
When I hear a drill I have a panic attack,
so I had to quit my job at the shop.
I think when she saw the look on my face,
she knew I would not be able to listen
to her drill story. She actually hugged me
and told me everything would be okay.


5.) I lost my job due to the pandemic but he blamed me.
He drugged me asleep and set the apartment on fire.
I read about this online. They still haven’t caught him.
She jumps every time the front door opens.
She is sure he will find her here.
Can he?
Do any of these men find our clients here?


6.) I got caught shoplifting cigarettes for him.
That put me in the hospital for a week.
(I told her to not use passive voice,
to put the blame where it belongs.
)

HE put me in the hospital for a week,
she said proudly,
showing me the empty darkness
where teeth had been
before the beating.


7.) He was voted Lawyer of the Year by his firm.
To celebrate, he got drunk and let his best friend from work
rape me on the floor of the garage.
I was raped by my roommates’ boyfriend.
I told her that. I have never told anyone that before.
She and I then sat, here in the office,
and just sat in silence until I had to go to class.


8.) He beat my mother after she tried to stop him
from stabbing me at a family reunion.
I really thought she was trying to be funny
and I laughed. Now she avoids me
whenever I work my shifts. I feel bad.
I’ve tried to apologize, but I don’t know
what to say or how to say it.


9.) His brother told me I shouldn’t marry him,
and it was even his good brother who said that,
not the one who had raped me.
I changed her bandages as we talked.
Her kids seemed to be in shock
but in the two days they’ve been here,
I’ve actually heard them all laugh a few times.


10.) Addendum
I broke up with my boyfriend earlier.
And I can’t work the overnight shift anymore.
This morning as I walked home, I was on the hill
and heard a noise behind me. Ended up
being a cat who walked with me a while.
But before that, before I saw the calico cat,
I thought it was a man, a monster, a violence
that had found me, followed me, that small noise
sent me into a panic and when I tried to
explain that to my boyfriend as I broke up
with him, and he laughed a little, he didn’t
get it, and suddenly I saw him straddling me,
I could picture him angry, sweating, sputtering,
trying to strangle me for some imagined slight,
maybe slapping me, smirking, and my panic
on the pre-dawn street was in my throat again,
and my body was shaking when I told him
to get out, get out, and stop sneaking up on me.

Mary Christine Delea

Three Questions for Mary

What inspired your choice of genre(s) and/or form(s) for your work? What was your creative process? What is the significance of this work to you?

"Domestic Violence Shelter": I have written a number of poems based on my experiences working in domestic violence shelters. This particular one was written when I was writing a poem a day for a month a few years ago. I used the intake form format in order to describe cases of DV and the intern’s back and forth of her emotional reactions. 

"Early Autumn": some poems just seem to want to be prose poems. Others get revised as free verse and then prose again. This one just seemed to work better as a prose poem. I have been writing more nature poems recently—they tend to be odes, elegies, or a combination of those. 

"How to Have Sex": This poem is one of my process poems, currently in a full-length manuscript I am submitting. I wrote this as lockdown was lifting and I was thinking of things people might need to be reminded how to do. I had taken a Zoom workshop where we wrote an erasure poem. These two things combined and I wrote this poem. Since writing this, this dish’s title and webpage have been updated. I also must admit I have not cooked this dish.

Mary Christine Delea has a Ph.D. and is a former university professor. She continues to teach through in-person and online workshops and in her volunteer positions. Her poems have been published in one full-length collection (The Skeleton Holding Up the Sky from Main Street Rag Press), three chapbooks, numerous journals, and various anthologies. Originally from Long Island, NY, she now lives in Oregon.

Next (Early Autumn, Willamette Valley) >

< Back (Is there anything left to offer?)