Rituals and Laws of Childhood
The smell of soap in my mother’s house is strong and soft,
Sweet like flowers and a clean childhood.
I kept my hands neat, sure to use napkins
To fight the sticky kisses of fruit on my cheeks.
I lived by the rules of bleach and even numbers
And whatever kept Daddy pleased,
Peaceful. I can still see the couch spilled to its knees,
The blankets uncoiled around it like broken limbs
And my little toys scattered everywhere
Like pieces of my house’s heart,
My computer games ripped from their safe shells.
I could not understand what my father had done
Until many years later. I am too old
To wipe my fingers clean between each bite.
I have been blinded with whiteness and cold rage,
And I have broken my own heart with what I do.
I worry sometimes that I have my Daddy’s temper,
But the warm, safe smell of my mother’s house
Has bound me in check so far.
Sweet like flowers and a clean childhood.
I kept my hands neat, sure to use napkins
To fight the sticky kisses of fruit on my cheeks.
I lived by the rules of bleach and even numbers
And whatever kept Daddy pleased,
Peaceful. I can still see the couch spilled to its knees,
The blankets uncoiled around it like broken limbs
And my little toys scattered everywhere
Like pieces of my house’s heart,
My computer games ripped from their safe shells.
I could not understand what my father had done
Until many years later. I am too old
To wipe my fingers clean between each bite.
I have been blinded with whiteness and cold rage,
And I have broken my own heart with what I do.
I worry sometimes that I have my Daddy’s temper,
But the warm, safe smell of my mother’s house
Has bound me in check so far.