a paltry protest.
Don’t move! Daddy’s scarlet
face underlined his command.
I thought he might smack her.
But as quickly as his anger
flared, it dissipated, smoke.
Don’t be afraid. This won’t
hurt. You’ll like it. I promise.
He kissed the length of her torso,
down to the small, naked V.
It was only his mouth
that night. He didn’t even
ask her to touch him, prove
how much she loved him.
Afterward, she worried.
Didn’t he want her love
anymore? What had she done
wrong? And yet, he had taught her
something new. Something awful.
Worse,
Something wonderful.
Something every
girl should
know the
joy of,
though,
of course,
she shouldn’t
learn it from Daddy.
At ten, it isn’t exactly
easy to separate
good touch
from bad
touch,
proper
love from
improper love,
doting daddy from perv.
But Tonight Will Be Perv-Free
Hugged by my ostentatiously
thick mattress, falling fast, faster
toward blessed sleep, or in my
case, more likely the sleep of the
damned,
the space behind my eyes
is covered by a dark collage.
Bodies. Smiles. Leers. Faces.
Some familiar, some not, as
if
they are people I’ve yet to meet,
or maybe have already met
in another lifetime. One face
truly haunts me. I’m sure
I
knew her once upon a time.
Her hair is a rich mahogany,
her eyes vivid green, like those
of a wildcat. Where do I
know
her from? And why do I feel
such a connection, if I can’t
even recognize her face? I so
want to understand
the truth
of her, of “us.” Yes, wanting
and getting are two different
things. But intuition tells me
this puzzle needs to be solved.
Kaeleigh
Daddy’s Still Asleep
At seven a.m. Wonder if I should
wake him before I leave for school.
I’m guessing it’s a case of
damned
if I do, damned if I don’t. He’s
going to have a major headache,
though he probably won’t have
a decent clue why. Then again,
if
I let him oversleep, he’ll be
mad at me, too. It’s not like
a judge can just call in sick,
unless he’s on his deathbed.
I
will probably die before he does.
Dying, for Daddy, would be
the ultimate defeat. But death
doesn’t scare me. To
know
exactly when I might
expect it, up close and in
my face, would actually be
a comfort. Because to tell
the truth,
most of the time dying
seems pretty much like
my only means of escape.
Not Right Now, Though
Not with the election looming.
No use ruining that for Mom.
Although maybe if something
bad happened to me, something
bad enough to make me die,
she’d win the sympathy vote.
Never mind. She’d probably
be too distracted with the funeral
and the burial and the incredible
after-the-graveyard party and…
Pht-pht-pht. Rewind that old
film to another funeral. Ugh.
Don’t want to go there. Don’t
want to see that coffin, or go
to the post-service pot luck.
I huddled alone in one corner,
trying desperately to ignore
the gut-churning potpourri
of smells: tuna casserole, over-
cooked broccoli, onion laced
salads. Booze, in assorted flavors.
Flowers. Didn’t know all their names.
But their combined perfumes
smelled like death. Mom sat on
an overstuffed sofa, vacant-eyed,
silently sipping vodka on the rocks.
Daddy gulped whiskey, and might
have passed out quietly except…
Someone stumbled through the door,
wearing an aura of Scotch and a marble
expression on her face—the one I just
barely remember. She went straight up
to her son. You! She shoved him
into the wall. L-look at you, Raymond.
All red eyed and drippy nosed.
You don’t fool me. Don’t f-f-fool them….
She gave a vague wave. W-we all know
just what you are—a m-monster!
I Don’t Want to Relive
That scene, which grew as ugly
as any my mind can replay.
Grandma and Daddy sparred. Verbally.
Then physically, until someone
pulled them apart, spitting poison
as they separated, not just for that
evening, but, at least if Daddy
has his way, forever afterward.
That’s the last solid memory
Don’t move! Daddy’s scarlet
face underlined his command.
I thought he might smack her.
But as quickly as his anger
flared, it dissipated, smoke.
Don’t be afraid. This won’t
hurt. You’ll like it. I promise.
He kissed the length of her torso,
down to the small, naked V.
It was only his mouth
that night. He didn’t even
ask her to touch him, prove
how much she loved him.
Afterward, she worried.
Didn’t he want her love
anymore? What had she done
wrong? And yet, he had taught her
something new. Something awful.
Worse,
Something wonderful.
Something every
girl should
know the
joy of,
though,
of course,
she shouldn’t
learn it from Daddy.
At ten, it isn’t exactly
easy to separate
good touch
from bad
touch,
proper
love from
improper love,
doting daddy from perv.
But Tonight Will Be Perv-Free
Hugged by my ostentatiously
thick mattress, falling fast, faster
toward blessed sleep, or in my
case, more likely the sleep of the
damned,
the space behind my eyes
is covered by a dark collage.
Bodies. Smiles. Leers. Faces.
Some familiar, some not, as
if
they are people I’ve yet to meet,
or maybe have already met
in another lifetime. One face
truly haunts me. I’m sure
I
knew her once upon a time.
Her hair is a rich mahogany,
her eyes vivid green, like those
of a wildcat. Where do I
know
her from? And why do I feel
such a connection, if I can’t
even recognize her face? I so
want to understand
the truth
of her, of “us.” Yes, wanting
and getting are two different
things. But intuition tells me
this puzzle needs to be solved.
Kaeleigh
Daddy’s Still Asleep
At seven a.m. Wonder if I should
wake him before I leave for school.
I’m guessing it’s a case of
damned
if I do, damned if I don’t. He’s
going to have a major headache,
though he probably won’t have
a decent clue why. Then again,
if
I let him oversleep, he’ll be
mad at me, too. It’s not like
a judge can just call in sick,
unless he’s on his deathbed.
I
will probably die before he does.
Dying, for Daddy, would be
the ultimate defeat. But death
doesn’t scare me. To
know
exactly when I might
expect it, up close and in
my face, would actually be
a comfort. Because to tell
the truth,
most of the time dying
seems pretty much like
my only means of escape.
Not Right Now, Though
Not with the election looming.
No use ruining that for Mom.
Although maybe if something
bad happened to me, something
bad enough to make me die,
she’d win the sympathy vote.
Never mind. She’d probably
be too distracted with the funeral
and the burial and the incredible
after-the-graveyard party and…
Pht-pht-pht. Rewind that old
film to another funeral. Ugh.
Don’t want to go there. Don’t
want to see that coffin, or go
to the post-service pot luck.
I huddled alone in one corner,
trying desperately to ignore
the gut-churning potpourri
of smells: tuna casserole, over-
cooked broccoli, onion laced
salads. Booze, in assorted flavors.
Flowers. Didn’t know all their names.
But their combined perfumes
smelled like death. Mom sat on
an overstuffed sofa, vacant-eyed,
silently sipping vodka on the rocks.
Daddy gulped whiskey, and might
have passed out quietly except…
Someone stumbled through the door,
wearing an aura of Scotch and a marble
expression on her face—the one I just
barely remember. She went straight up
to her son. You! She shoved him
into the wall. L-look at you, Raymond.
All red eyed and drippy nosed.
You don’t fool me. Don’t f-f-fool them….
She gave a vague wave. W-we all know
just what you are—a m-monster!
I Don’t Want to Relive
That scene, which grew as ugly
as any my mind can replay.
Grandma and Daddy sparred. Verbally.
Then physically, until someone
pulled them apart, spitting poison
as they separated, not just for that
evening, but, at least if Daddy
has his way, forever afterward.
That’s the last solid memory
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