<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=527980" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Simple Fact</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There was the simple fact <br>she was pregnant and by him. <br>Three months late. Morning <br>sickness. Throwing up after </div><div style="margin:10px 0">breakfast. If she had breakfast. <br>And Thornton knew nothing <br>of it and that was the way she <br>wanted it: him ignorant of that </div><div style="margin:10px 0">fact of her being with child as <br>Mother called it. She’d not seen <br>him since the big bust-up after <br>the Chekov play. He rang twice </div><div style="margin:10px 0">but she put the phone down with <br>a mighty slam. That temper of <br>yours, Mother used to say, will <br>be the death of you. Not yet at </div><div style="margin:10px 0">least, she thought. Mother always <br>thought she knew best; a childhood <br>of constant nags and slaps. She lay <br>in bed listening to birds. Father </div><div style="margin:10px 0">was a bird watcher, knew them all, <br>where they laid and when and <br>what colour the eggs of the birds <br>were. She remembered him and </div><div style="margin:10px 0">his binoculars and that hat which <br>made Mother laugh. Soon she’d <br>get up and puke. The smell itself <br>was enough to make her puke again. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thornton’s one minute act of sex <br>brought all this. God’s seven days <br>of creating beauty and light were <br>reduced by Thornton one minute’s </div><div style="margin:10px 0">sex, to making hell in a single night. <br>You’ll make it all work, a voice <br>inside her head said. But it was a <br>big step from single self to another </div><div style="margin:10px 0">human being lying helpless in the <br>hands wailing and flailing its arms. <br>She sat up on the side of the bed. <br>All thoughts of Thornton, Mother </div><div style="margin:10px 0">and Father all mixed up with puke <br>swirling in her guts and in her head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Terry+Collett">Terry Collett</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=527980" data-title="Simple Fact de Terry Collett" data-description="There was the simple fact she was pregnant and by him. Three months late. Morning sickness. Throwing up after breakfast. If she had breakfast. And Thornton knew nothing of it and that was the way she wanted it: him ignorant of that fact ..."></div> </div> </div>

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