While menstruating, I wandered through the bloodied snow --
cursing Jesus because my mother had always cried for him.
Even if she hadn't, I understood futility.
At home, in bed, (naked and discolored), no longer desperate
for the one who only sought me, she had known
I was her carnal sin; so, I left him beside her.
Daddy always said, "You're my special little girl --
nothing more pure has come from that whore."
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What strikes me most is that single word —
ReplyDeletespecial. It has come to suggest so many sinister possibilities. It has become a true
euphemism.
This one was inspired by a series of little girls who have entered and left my life. In some cases, justice was found; in other cases, they have been branded liars by their own mothers. I happened to run into one of the girls at her school; she remembered me and ran into my arms. It broke my heart.
ReplyDeleteAnyway, this is a piece about incest, and it will never cease to amaze/amuse me how often that word "special" is used by the offending parent. It's right up there with "our little secret."
Incest and murder -- that's the core of this piece. I kinda liked it; overall, I've come to hate it. Back to the drawing board. I thought I had one here, but the more I read it...
There's nothing to hate here but the inspiration that is too often true.
ReplyDeleteI have this sense of a young girl relating this story without any real feeling other than being matter of fact, which in turn makes the the reality of it that much more jarring.
In working with young children, one often hears things that are just simply a part of their world, but yet for those of us who don't live in that environment, it's often shocking but more so when we realize it is not even mildly surprising for them.
This is quite effective.
Thank you, Pamme.
ReplyDelete