Tracks That Night

It was late, the world drawn tight,
The house held still in soft dim light.
You took the dog out, routine, small,
Just moonlight spilling down the hall.

Then back inside—unnoticed trail,
Dog po op tracks, a quiet fail.
But something deep inside me snapped,
A thousand weights the moment tapped.

I raised my voice, too sharp, too loud,
Anger dressed in shameful shroud.
And all the while, behind one door,
Our son was sleeping on the floor.

His room aglow with soft night sounds,
While I let darkness do its rounds.
Not at you—but at the world,
At every scar my mind still hurled.

The bodies seen in crowded halls,
Cold eyes beneath fluorescent calls.
The screams that echoed, sharp and raw,
When steel gave way on 35W’s maw.

All of it, like smoke, unseen—
But thick and choking in between
The cracks of life, the calm we fake,
Until the soul begins to break.

You didn’t cause the flood that came—
You just stood still and took the blame.
Your hands had only tried to care,
But I threw anger into the air.

And now, regret—too wide to name,
I ache with guilt, I burn with shame.
I’d give up years to fix that night,
To hold you close, not choose the fight.

He slept through all, our little one,
While I forgot who I’d become.
But I remember now—I swear—
The love that built this home with care.

Forgive me, if you can, someday,
Though I can’t look myself that way.
But I’ll keep trying, step by step—
For you, for him, while the world slept.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.