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legacy
by Rhyana Fisherunwed, she kept silver rat tail combs of polished metal
to terminate the unwanted pregnancies
they fled hungary, ran away to america
his father raped her
bastard child taken in by his mother's sister
threatened to kill himself, thus she married him
they used their children to staff their own little brothel,
when the elder ones came for her she barely escaped incest
or did she?
alcoholic father, beatings, the weight of a dispossessed people
heavy upon his shoulders, left the reservation
(and past?) behind by becoming 'white'
locked in the trunk of car, beaten nigh to death
as his sisters danced attendence upon his father
trading upon their sexual attributes to avoid his fate
heavy with bastard child,
married the boy next door, the father
paid for her sins with a lifetime of abuse and manipulation
watched her kids abused, never did a thing
lazy? or cowardly? only she knows
the skeletons do not hang silently
upon my family tree 05/11/2006 Author's Note: talk about primordial ooze...
Posted on 05/11/2006
Copyright © 2024 Rhyana Fisher
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Ashok Sharda on 05/11/06 at 03:52 PM You can call this world many things, but never call it "just" or "easy", nor all its coincidental paths "smooth" or "beautiful". You can call it "ugly" and you can call it "hard" because all that it gives is a phsyical life, and what comes after is mostly a matter of chance and circumstance.
Bury what is dead. And the right place is a grave yard. The rotting deads have no place in the house of LIVING. Bury your own dead to be born again and rejoice in this new birth
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| Posted by Rula Shin on 05/11/06 at 04:05 PM Yes, sadism is a trait inherited not genetically, but through "education", through repetition of cruelty. Misery loves company and who easier to drag down into your sludge than your very own who have, by chance, been helplessly thrown into your care? Life is only concerned with creating more life, and not at all concerned with the LIVING. This LIVING, we must realize on our own, find meaning, and bury the past once and for all because otherwise we keep the dead inside us, and we too rot until our chance dwindle away to nothing. It's the only way to rise up again and become helpless no more. The cycle must END HERE at this collective headstone. Then and only then can the seed be replanted in a fertile green grass of one's own choosing. This is so powerful, so poingnant, so heartbreaking and yes, I realize there is no understanding who hasn't been there. |
| Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 05/12/06 at 02:42 PM le moment par le moment, le ciel au-dessus de nous sommes nouveaux
"moment by moment the sky above us is new" § peace to you § sweet poet § —Jill |
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