We, women, like flowers, need care
the sun, rain, fresh air
Love us, surround us with nature’s song, we flourish
Pluck us from the earth, we wither
STEP-FATHER: Who the hell you talking to like that? (In his wife’s face) Don’t you ever tell me what to do with my kids.
MOTHER: They’re my kids.
(Mumbling under his breath, he grabs her by the throat thrusting her to the couch then falling, beating her head on the floor. She tries to fight back. The daughter runs into the room. Her younger brother follows close behind.)
Above is an excerpt from my new play Forgive and Forget, an ode to my mother who was a victim of domestic violence most of my life and all except the last few years of hers.