These are the things we’ve never been permitted
to talk about: the bruises from Daddy, the scars
from the broken Sunday School slate. Whether
we were bad (which we were – tic tac toe on the pews),
whether our sisters were good (they slept in
the same room with him, so anything that
happened was mum, and made them proud,
at first). Later, after they realized, not all
fathers take such liberties, they were angry
with us. They would have taken the beatings,
any day, if we had taken the worst,
from the inside out.
One thought on “Inside Out”
Wow–a moving poem.