It was a hot July day in Montana in 1952.
Somehow I managed to disobey the Queen.
She caught me by my shoulder, re-opening
one of the sores from the last time she gave
me a hiding with the belt, with its nasty buckle.
My father was building us a house on my
grandmother’s land, so studs and tar paper
were the order of the day.
Furious because I wouldn’t cry, she hit me
in the head repeatedly with a length of wood.
That didn’t assuage her anger - she pulled
me to the back of the unfinished house where
there were studs.
First she tried to chain me, but my tiny wrists
wouldn’t stay within the links, so she grabbed
some wire and wrapped it around my wrist
a dozen times, fastening that to the chain,
which was then battened onto the stud.
It was 100 degrees at nine o’clock in the morning.
She was no bigger than a second-grader, but all
quailed in fear of her, except for my Aunt Donna.
Grammy brought a dish of water and some rags.
She soaked the rags in the water and worked them
past the tar paper, so I could suck at them.
The best day of my life was when Aunt Donna
arrived, shotgun in hand, and made my mother
untie me.
She pulled me to the old Ford truck and
kept the shotgun on my mother every step
of the way, taking me away from more hell
than anyone ought to know.
Author notes
This is a true story, but as time passes memories become
less harsh, don't they?
Written May 11th, 2006
A contest entry
- Pain by Wee Mira.
300 points, ended October 25, 2006, 9 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Turn That Silver Into Gold! by Nicada.
300 points, ended October 8, 2008, 11 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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I am so honored to have won Gold in this contest. Rather than let the memories eat me to the bone, I share in the hopes someone else will know they were not alone.
Thank you!! -
Wow! What an emotional and powerful poem you have penned here. I too was abused as a child and it is something that affects one the rest of their life, in so many ways. For me, writing has been so healing, and I think these kind of writes that are very detailed, are the most healing. What we do not face, we cannot heal. This was painful to read but your story is an important one to tell. Blessings to you and I thank you for entering my contest. Patty
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Yes time dulls the pain and obscures the memories. I hope your pain has lessened for I know it never goes away.
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The imagery here is so powerful,particularly the wrist being too tiny to be chained, and the grandmother soaking a rag for you to suck on, it gives an idea of how intimidated all those around you were too. The reality of this so very distressing, I was abused too, but i will not compare it with yours, because i believe that there is no peace to be found in comparisons. I agree that the memories become less vivid, unfortunately they never completely go, but we can reduce the power they have over us, by allowing ourselves the time and space to heal, and this poem will help towards that, thank you for being brave enough to share your story, sincerely wishing you peace and healing.
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a good piece, i certainly know the feel of a belt buckle from my younger days, a sad reality this poem shows. spill poetic ink and twist me into the wild crazy shape of unfathomable love...
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This is a harsh reality for many in life. Mine was not all peaches, but not so bad as this. Sheez. You can feel the emotions here. The piece is really good, but I think you would do better with it to make it a full blown story or to maybe edit it a bit and make it flow a bit more, but overall it is good and I enjoyed reading it.
Either way, this does have the strength and imagery to actually make me tear up, which is not an easy feat. Well done!
Edited on Jun 05, 9:56 because ''. -
No one should be treated like that, especially by one's own mother. So sorry you had to go through this. (((hugs))) My own
mother served me with a few blows too, but nothing this harsh.
Red
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