CASSANDRA’S SONG
by khf
Tiny, sweet little thing, she is
All spindle and bone
Cornrows
Pigtails
And shiny pink ribbons
flashing through
the Alabama moonlight
where pine trees
whisper tales of hoods
in their swaying tops
and oil-slicked mud
oozes between
her toes
Somewhere
quicksand itches
to swallow
a little girl whole
He punches the dark
with her name
drowning out the bullfrogs
bellowing through
nightfall clockworks:
swamp mosquitoes
cicadas dropping harmonies
and the fluster
of a woodcock
roused from its roost
His catcalls
Slurred by whiskey
Thick with phlegm
from smokes
One time
he showed her
that fat, snake-thing
in his pants
Pulled it out
Wiggled it in her face
Fell backwards
against a chainlink fence
Gyrating
Praising Jesus
like a believer
slain in the Spirit
She runs
Bursts through the backdoor
—sweat glued to her skin--
into the kitchen
foggy with steam rich from
chicken frying up in grease
Mama spins around
and
crack-whips
a handprint
on her cheek
For Disobeying
For Running Away When Daddy Calls
Still she runs
She runs through
weeds and nettles
Runs with cuts and bruises
and what’s left of her heart
Sometimes he catches her
Clamps her shoulder
with a hand
frostbite-cold
in the high summer heat
She kicks
She screams
while the bullfrogs bellow
She runs
Again
and Again
Season after season
She runs
Grinning through chalk dust
and a chorus of
“Good Morning, Father”
stands the sun rising
on a crying day
He fumbles with text books
and leaky pens
and cannot control
his 9th grade class
He is “aw-shucks”
in a cassock
and soon
turns sweet
on the girl in the second row
He fills her head with baubles
and blue-eyed charm
Gives her a friendly face
A soft lap to sit on
An easy place to rest
He gives her dreams
In a dark and shrouded ceremony
the sweet girl with cornrows and pigtails
marries her wounds
forever binding them
to her veins
And no one
Not a soul
—blessed or otherwise--
Not even
the humble Jesuit
who calls her bed home
and
lands the occasional slap
or two
will ever
Ever
breach what’s left of her heart
chased always by
those
long ago
Alabama Nights.
khf/10.17.22
by khf
Tiny, sweet little thing, she is
All spindle and bone
Cornrows
Pigtails
And shiny pink ribbons
flashing through
the Alabama moonlight
where pine trees
whisper tales of hoods
in their swaying tops
and oil-slicked mud
oozes between
her toes
Somewhere
quicksand itches
to swallow
a little girl whole
He punches the dark
with her name
drowning out the bullfrogs
bellowing through
nightfall clockworks:
swamp mosquitoes
cicadas dropping harmonies
and the fluster
of a woodcock
roused from its roost
His catcalls
Slurred by whiskey
Thick with phlegm
from smokes
One time
he showed her
that fat, snake-thing
in his pants
Pulled it out
Wiggled it in her face
Fell backwards
against a chainlink fence
Gyrating
Praising Jesus
like a believer
slain in the Spirit
She runs
Bursts through the backdoor
—sweat glued to her skin--
into the kitchen
foggy with steam rich from
chicken frying up in grease
Mama spins around
and
crack-whips
a handprint
on her cheek
For Disobeying
For Running Away When Daddy Calls
Still she runs
She runs through
weeds and nettles
Runs with cuts and bruises
and what’s left of her heart
Sometimes he catches her
Clamps her shoulder
with a hand
frostbite-cold
in the high summer heat
She kicks
She screams
while the bullfrogs bellow
She runs
Again
and Again
Season after season
She runs
Grinning through chalk dust
and a chorus of
“Good Morning, Father”
stands the sun rising
on a crying day
He fumbles with text books
and leaky pens
and cannot control
his 9th grade class
He is “aw-shucks”
in a cassock
and soon
turns sweet
on the girl in the second row
He fills her head with baubles
and blue-eyed charm
Gives her a friendly face
A soft lap to sit on
An easy place to rest
He gives her dreams
In a dark and shrouded ceremony
the sweet girl with cornrows and pigtails
marries her wounds
forever binding them
to her veins
And no one
Not a soul
—blessed or otherwise--
Not even
the humble Jesuit
who calls her bed home
and
lands the occasional slap
or two
will ever
Ever
breach what’s left of her heart
chased always by
those
long ago
Alabama Nights.
khf/10.17.22
