honey & lime

Ancestry Dot Com Forgot to Mention the Generational Dysfunction

There is the question that always comes - 

something about violence in the home as a child

What I know is this:

There was a drought in the summertime 

A daughter came bearing storms and two small fists

clenched tight against existence 

A holy name was given to an already unholy thing, 

heavy with the belief that this world is a welcoming one

Two great destroyers had come before her;

would-be protectors gone gnarled and wrong 

Innocence was pruned and plucked quick, 

left to wilt waterless beneath the windowsill 

The corpse of it was stomped and cursed and spit on

Around the dinner table there was no love lost

only concern underscored by disdain and entitlement 

Lips were pressed close to ears 

as a collection of lost souls competed in a twisted game of telephone

trying hard and failing to sound sober 

The phrase is: what did you get from your father?

Corrupted through hushed voices the words become: a lifetime of sorrow

Alongside the implications of self-respect and the wardrobe of

a good and proper girl 

There was the reality that not even coveralls

can stand against the teeth of a wolf

And once the stomach turning guilt is swallowed, 

what is there left to salvage?

I suppose all of this is a violence of its own

But there was never any home

There was never any girl 

There was never any whole

There was only me, trembling alone in my bed,

One hand pressed hard over my mouth so as not to wake my mother