Did You Not Know…
by khf
My father was chaos and dark thunder
A tyrant
Waiting always
for an excuse to pound
across the floorboards
on 14 Beaumont Road
in a rage.
Belts for the boys.
Words for me--
garden variety reprimands.
Ordinary words to an outsider’s ears.
Only they were
Shell words. Coded words.
Words conjured to hide the drumbeat of his sexual hunger.
Words that drooled.
And warned me to cover my breasts
budding too freely
beneath my cotton blouse.
But I dared not move--
not an eyelash--
as he rammed his verbal fury
into my soft pubescent body.
Using insults as gasoline
to chase my panicking hysteria
Until I burst--
shattered and dismembered--
into sloppy, hulking sobs
and sweaty tears
And the phlegmy whimpering of a wounded animal
gasping for breath.
While he smirked
puffing away on his well-chewed pipe
yakking that I was too easy.
Too easy—that is a truth…
I was easy prey--
ripening flesh approaching heat
innocently
trailing earth musk behind me--
the pong of sex.
Much too irresistible--
in a moth-drawn-to-the-lurid-flame kind of way--
to a man so adept
at disguising sexual lechery
as discipline.
I didn’t want to be
my father’s ejaculation.
His climax.
His orgasm.
His conquest.
His denouement.
His pleasure.
I didn’t want to be
the lazy tobacco smoke curling toward the ceiling.
But I was all of those.
And more--
a real birdbrain he would call me.
Yes.
I was all feathers and no spine
trapped in a rusted cage
cowering in defeat
frantic
unable
to reassemble my mutilated self.
But I was born with a ballpoint in my hand
And paint under my fingernails
And enough courage to finally lift my leaden feet
Did you not know
that
eventually
daughters grow up?
khf/2024
by khf
My father was chaos and dark thunder
A tyrant
Waiting always
for an excuse to pound
across the floorboards
on 14 Beaumont Road
in a rage.
Belts for the boys.
Words for me--
garden variety reprimands.
Ordinary words to an outsider’s ears.
Only they were
Shell words. Coded words.
Words conjured to hide the drumbeat of his sexual hunger.
Words that drooled.
And warned me to cover my breasts
budding too freely
beneath my cotton blouse.
But I dared not move--
not an eyelash--
as he rammed his verbal fury
into my soft pubescent body.
Using insults as gasoline
to chase my panicking hysteria
Until I burst--
shattered and dismembered--
into sloppy, hulking sobs
and sweaty tears
And the phlegmy whimpering of a wounded animal
gasping for breath.
While he smirked
puffing away on his well-chewed pipe
yakking that I was too easy.
Too easy—that is a truth…
I was easy prey--
ripening flesh approaching heat
innocently
trailing earth musk behind me--
the pong of sex.
Much too irresistible--
in a moth-drawn-to-the-lurid-flame kind of way--
to a man so adept
at disguising sexual lechery
as discipline.
I didn’t want to be
my father’s ejaculation.
His climax.
His orgasm.
His conquest.
His denouement.
His pleasure.
I didn’t want to be
the lazy tobacco smoke curling toward the ceiling.
But I was all of those.
And more--
a real birdbrain he would call me.
Yes.
I was all feathers and no spine
trapped in a rusted cage
cowering in defeat
frantic
unable
to reassemble my mutilated self.
But I was born with a ballpoint in my hand
And paint under my fingernails
And enough courage to finally lift my leaden feet
Did you not know
that
eventually
daughters grow up?
khf/2024
