There is no time
that I can recall
the feeling of
maternal security
or motherly love.

But I can still feel
that fierce tug
and elastic snapping
while her other hand
was slapping,
smacking me
straight in my
stunned face.

I can still feel
the tension of hair pulled,
but never ripped from
my skull,
or torn to the point
of a ****** scalp.

I can still see,
on certain days
that twisted face
of her hateful rage,
that vengeful snarl
with jaw and brow
contorted into
a blank eyed
monstrous scowl.

I can still feel
each righteous blow
as she repaid
all slights
from that day
to the wrong account.

Better yet
I can still feel
that magic thrill
on the day
I stopped her strike mid air
like a bad *** ninja,
in that instant
knowing
she could never again lay
her random fits of rage
upon me
unless I allowed
them to be.