You've been following me again
In the beginning you were little sister with white blond hair
Picking black berries, climbing the TV antennae to run on the roof
Helping with leaf fort...
Crawling in dirt under house catching ant lions
Climbing trees...
You fell once! How your shin turned blue
Blinking back tears
Walking, following with wincing limp
I never said I was sorry for standing you on the street
Whispering naughty words for you to shout "Louder!"
As I hid in the bushes
How Father erupted from house and scooped you up spanking
How I shot you with slingshot in the butt
Acorn ammunition
when you let the garbage can lid shield
Ride up too high
I'm sorry
Sorry for betraying your deep love for me
No one told me
I should respect your reverence
Or maybe I just didn't listen then
I caught it in my son
Stomped it into the dirt
Gave my daughter some power
"If you want him spanked, just scream out one more time!"
(How his eyes bugged with the implications...)
Now when I put on my drum major hat
Pump my baton, tweet my whistle
No one follows
I miss you
Author notes
d e e r c a t c h e r
A contest entry
- Shadow by Rheea.
700 points, ended October 6, 9 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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generationally tracking even
the ending gives impacts many feel from memory to not warp, some over compensating and so there are pulses of pendulums in families often. standards for no sadness of such are needed.
your use of you relates the actuality of the sorrow that would be in being accosted, unsupervised though so there's sympathy for both of you. but I'm glad you left marginal learning to get away with something for bordering behavior to better freedom even of one's own mature mood
I know my attempts can be as under heater where I eat which makes a cold draft --
your narrating compunction "for standing you on the street" did have me tangentialize a little to my sister gang of acting grown up. I was brought in to play 'truth or dare,' in retrospect already a component of needing a run downstairs from apartment by mother but not like to neighborhood poker game going too long but e.g. to park lol... but at this incident I didn't want to be routed on heard 'truth' or that joke kind from me so they gave me the daringness of being assigned lay in turning lane of busy street. someone called by dad, it was the first time I was ever spanked, never saw him so incensed or I guess scared. it was only occurence, maybe misapplied a little became pro con parent.
thanks for sharing and trying relevantly into age not just for storage's sake story,
carolyn -
How wonderful to see a piece of life lol oh. I love this . remarkable . Thank you.
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it was you! oh oh tell me more please..
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Any time I hurt her playing too rough, I would get in her face and clown, till she stopped crying, and began laughing. I can still see the transformation of her face...
She did really well; married a cardiologist, who was so busy, it made her lonely. I wrote her another poem about that, too. I'll link it.
http://allpoetry.com/poem/5565065
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This is very powerful, on many levels. How our childhood reaches through us, to touch our children; how our adult understanding turns memories on their head and makes us realize a different truth, sometimes with regret; how the closeness of our blood both binds and frees us. This is exceptional, particularly when you choose to empower your daughter, and teach your son about equality and respect. This makes me think back to my own sibling relationships... all good poems should make us think, shouldn't they? Lovely work here.
Lita
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Beautiful!
It is good to know the story behind the story, thank you. You are a compassionate soul. May you always write with such deep clairvoyance of the process of growth towards Truth.
Love
Myra
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