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Summer Dance

July 24, 2012

I watched you slip into the water, long tan limbs disappearing beneath the mirrored August sky, cicadas hissing in the trees at the edge of the field.

Later we played in the hay barn ’til my eyes swelled shut and you got a wuppin’ from your daddy’s old leather strap, ‘though he ain’t your daddy.

You cussed and he hit you harder, his face sweaty and red, jaws clenched.   I remember the sun burning my eyes ‘til I couldn’t stand to look over at you no more.

Later, my pale legs stretched out next to yours, we sat out behind the milk house.  You leaned your head over on mine and cried.

The cicadas still hissed.  You wiped at your face with the back of your hand and showed me the welts on your backside.

I asked, “Do they hurt?” and you said, “Some” and I reckoned you were the bravest person I would ever chance to meet.

You cried the day we found your not-daddy dead, all the life done spilled out of him.  And I wondered why.


From → Poetry

  1. Always nice to see a fellow poet working. Cheers.

  2. Thanks for stopping by!

  3. The ‘dones’ take me back home. Home being the kid stitched memories of country childhood. I think we may have similar pasts my friend.

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