In Memory of a Soldiers’ Daughter
before me she sat screamed venom within this special junior high class
because my occasional teacher’s low-calling, my spare was revoked
a twisted grimace of pain for a mouth I wanted to know their names and all but she conformed
her tirade rose in waves but fell in splintered guttural ejections while her eyes flashed lightening no stranger had the right to know her
her posture, a scoliotic knot from waist to scalp revealed an ongoing war
my gentle attempts useless class members sniggered complicity but no empathy
ultimately pouting her insults ended. head covered with taut hands
her father once again home on leave had already won his ravaged self on her body
so much for a soldier’s commitments to keep terrorist mirages away so that he can preserve his idea of democracy.
© Diane Stevenson Schmolka .
Page last modified on December 27, 2014, at 12:05 AM