A boning knife was found behind the bed
to keep my older brother's hands at bay.
The words would not be heard, so none were said.
The little brother, trying to hide, played dead
beneath her blankets in a certain way;
a boning knife was found behind her bed.
She didn't fight me off before, instead
she let me, never spoke about my play.
The words would not be heard, so none were said.
The father, puking till his eyes were red:
"When I come to, there will be hell to pay."
A boning knife was found behind her bed.
He came out, knife in hand. To her, I pled,
"Momma, please...". Her look caused me to stay;
the words would not be heard, so none were said.
My daughter's plea was ringing in my head;
my father's hands still linger to this day.
A boning knife was found behind her bed,
the words would not be heard, so none were said.
The game the whole family can play. And does. Often.
NaPoWriMo day 2. A poem with change of voice. Spoken by the major players of this slice of Americana.