I Was Scared

The Family Above All

My sister hid, my brother ran, my mother cried
and begged him to stop, but when my father
had his reasons, he got his severed razor strop
to whip me like a slave to rid me of my demons.

Often, he caught me before I got out and locked
myself in the car but other times, I didn't get that far.
Or he had the keys in his pocket and dragged me out
and beat me in the yard. God, he hit me hard.

But if you time it right, and roll and twist,
the tails of leather won't completely bite,
they'll glance off the skin or go the same
direction you’re rolling in, and skip.

Other times, he would go back to get his keys in the house and
I’d run for the woods. Trees told me they ‘d shelter me there
in the fort I’d built from fallen boughs where I could hide.
This worked, except in wintertime, or if it was raining hard.

Those times, he’d drag me to the basement to take it
like a man. I tried every trick I'd learned over time:
crying like a baby, rolling and catching the blows
with my arms and legs, spinning away and behind
the metals poles that held up the joists of his house.

Above us, the family, secretly relieved to be
spared, cowered and whined, and denied.

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