My daddy was a woman beater

But she didn’t care as long as he didn’t cheat her
She valued that hit
Like it was twist of that good kush
On some cloud nine, Heroine Ish

After every episode
She’d still move with such grace
Pleading things, like
he’s just sick
He’s really a kind man
He’s not cruel.
Just sick!

She believed so much in his lies
Her nightly cries became uniform
As he.....
Mutilated her pretty face
Leaving battle scars
Some verbal, without a trace
Those cries became her lullabies
I remember it like it was yesterday
Until one night she stopped putting up a fight
Her lungs collasped
Causing a vein to bust
And people always said you can’t die from heart ache and mistrust
But I watched him
as he watched the spirit from her eyes disintegrate
he placed his peace sign
Over her like it was his final goodbye
Ironically
He simply smiled and said until next time
Then he took a dramatic pause
Kissed her forehead
Thanked her even
I continued to watch him, conflicted and confused
I watched him **** my mother then thank her
I saw him **** my mother
The one who loved him like no other
I pondered. . . Why did he thank her
It wasn’t until his stature blocked my light
My bulb went off
Remember I said. . .

My daddy was a woman beater
He thanked her cause I was next
Back then was when I was 5
You can celebrate
‘Cause I just turned 30
I survived.

I’m afraid
To go somewhere I have the right
I’m afraid
That someone will threaten my life
So many people have passed away
At the hand of another shooting
But at 16, should I be afraid
That the next one could be me?

Rosemary spotted a big rat in the water
Her Momma wasn't particularly impressed with her finding
Rain drops hung on their waxy, pink skin
In the rain they looked like two rain-hammered flowers

All around them was muck

The boy came sploshing through the floody water
The scrawny thing was shivering and he-
Embraced her Momma
Her Momma let him join her under the umbrella
(And there was on her Momma lips a big Momma smile)
Rosemary was quick-she saw that he'd bent his head
And was burrowing... burrowing between her Momma's legs
He pulled down his shorts; his little bums were saggy
Rosemary hated her Momma for standing dumb and dumbly gasping
She hit the boy on the back of his kitten head
And clawed off a slice of his peachy ***
(Still he clung to her Momma, like a half-shaved dog)
And then she said:
'I know your parents. I'm gonna tell'em'
That drained all glee from his fiendish mien
He stood there for a moment before he pulled his tee over head
And when he was gone, Rosemary let her *** pass down her legs
(As she often did in the rain)

Fingerprints and fibers,
Accumulated talk,
Whispers in the corners,
Bodies demarcated in chalk
On the marble courtroom stairs.
His misery became a pall.
With mourning signs in splattered pairs,
Red flowers on the wall.

All that he had left behind was grief
And powerless rage,
A Tansu chest in high relief,
A coiled brass clock fatigued with age.

Retreating to a white house in Simrishamn,
He’d walk his dog along the shore,
Find sterile clues amongst the sands,
And travel a ferry between two lands.

And now: An experiment! Blame Google Translate for this weird (?) Swedish translation: Please tell me if this is a bad translation!

Fingeravtryck och fibrer,
Ackumulerat samtal,
Viskar i hörnen,
Kroppar avgränsad i krita
På marmor rättssal trappor.
Hans elände blev en pall.
Med sorgsignaler i splatterade par,
Röda blommor på väggen.

Allt som han hade lämnat var sorg
Och maktlös raseri,
En Tansu bröst i hög lättnad,
En spolad mässingsklocka utmanad med åldern.

Att återvända till ett vitt hus i Simrishamn,
Han skulle gå sin hund längs stranden,
Hitta sterila ledtrådar bland sandarna,

I am surrounded by red, beating walls
that cast violent shadows on my skin
and threaten bruises with each beat.

Inside, it is deafening.
I cannot hear myself breathe
though, these gory walls shrink my lungs
and throw me into a dark red sleep.

He comes home in a drunken rage
Grabs her hair and smashed her face
She is begging on the floor
He just smirks and gives her more
He tells her to go clean her face
While he is on the phone to his mate
She is shaking and scared inside
In her hair the blood is dried
She lays down and wished she died
She closes her eyes trying not to breathe
Living in this life she has weaved

She wakes up broken and bruised
He lies there smelling of *****
She tries to hide the abuse
But she knows it’s no use
So she hides from her family and friends
Knowing that he will do it again

She lies in a hospital bed
Tubes all round her she hopes she is dead.
She can hear her mums silent cry
And the sad look in her eyes
Her dad paces back and forth
Leaving marks on the hospital floor

Darkness comes to take her away
But she decides to fight another day

Her eyes slowly open and she knows
That it’s time to let him go

They look out from the terrace.

At the borders of sight
live rocky hills behind brown
and golden and olive crop
under a cloudless sky.

BANG!

An artificial cloud.

“Mira,” she points, “Venga!”

They fly down stairs,
diving like sparrows
into the street.

Boys sprint across pavements and climb;
men vault over fences in time
for news to reach ears.

"¡Ya vienen!"

Excitement and fear.

The rattling of cow bells
and galloping nears.

Men bait and dodge horns
and escape through doors
and up and over
red wooden bars.

Sticks beat on the concrete ground
and closer, louder, gallops sound.

Seconds away –
until the last,
he side steps into a house;
indoors,
apart,

he runs through the foyer
and up the stairs
around a corner
with long strides
too fast to follow.
She chooses left and
sings soprano
when doors won't budge
and
             it
                      crashes
                                ­       in.

She turns and the fear is paralysing.


"FERMIN!"
"FERMIN!"
"FERMIN!"

He hurdles the stairs
and explodes
but it rams her
to and fro,
thrashing her head
against the wall
where horns
sin and gore
cement and brick.

He clasps the tail
and heaves its hide from
side to side as
hooves smash
crates of wine -
they slip and slide
in fractured glass;
he finds a horn
and yanks the head!
He's yanked instead
near dead before the men
arrive down stairs
to punch and kick it;
strike and stick it
smack and hit it;
'til it
fits and quits
and flees the foyer,
fast and frantic,
flying flustered
by the frenzy,
finally finding
pattering
paves
it
peters
off
down
the
street.





"¿Que ha pasado?
  ¿Quien ha sido?
  ¡El Balbotin
  y la Chicha!
  ¡Que una vaca
  les ha pillado!"

"¿Estas bien?"

Dizzy she's there
with searching hands
and scolding.

"Podria haber sido peor"

I am somebody
Shot in the Head...
Found the bullets.
Coroner Said.
A child of God struck dead.
Gang related disputing Fools.
Aiming cowardly bullets right at you.
I guess praying prayers just won't do.
There is no safe in these hard knocks realities' Truths.
Our Sista child!
Our mother child!
All the while the bodies pile.
Her body now adds to that 'the shootings aren't as bad as last year' body count.
Can't even stand anywhere in your city NOW?
Something has to truly give.
There's a plague of rigid legalities, relaxed moralities, and political realities stealing the 'safe' from our dying breed.
The Black man withering away in siphoning inequalities.
Doubling unemployment stretches outward like a statistical wild fire....
Our present fact.
There is a genocidal component to these criminal acts.


Copyrighted (C)

Published in the 2018 Edition of the Reconstructed Literary and Visual Journal at Governors State University.