Dear Mrs Johnson

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In our Face-me-I-face-you
Our room opposite the Johnson's
Mrs Johnson snored the loudest
A walking irony we used to think
As in the house she was the most quiet
But at night she became the loudest
Young and cautioned by our mother's glares
We never asked questions

In our Face-me-I-face-you
Mrs Johnson snored the loudest
Hours after the stereo was at its loudest
It would go off
We would hear sobs for so long
Then the heartfelt snoring
We never asked questions

In my Face-me-I-face-you
Mrs Johnson snored the loudest
Her subconscious calling to her ancestors
To not let her wake to the pains and aches
To Mr Johnson's rod, punches and kicks
To the stares that traced her scars
We never asked questions

In my Face-me-I-face-you
Mrs Johnson snored the loudest
Every night except one
Her ancestors had heard her incessant pleas
They had come for her
The heavy snoring slowing became faint
As she took steps closer to them
Until suddenly the house became silent
We knew she was no longer here
Glares exchanged with one question
What had happened to Mrs Johnson?
We were asking now
But aren't we too late?


#AskingButTooLate


Picture Credit: @angryarchitect

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