I'm caught! My soul held fast!
The trap sprung closed with a finality of sound
so vast that it would not be heard until years later
If at all….
It's sweet pain
when it came
It's cruelness defined by its self-inflicted nature
Crashed full upon me!
How could I not remember?
The loathing of the boy?
The loathing of the man?
The loathing of myself?
It was all the same.
I married us….
HE walks through the door talking
of a fox HE sees in the wood
its paw mangled from one of HIS traps.
I think for a moment
HE's talking about me
I wonder if maybe I've been wondering the wood
instead of here beating this lump of dough
I call by HIS name
I tell HIM
'Pie's about done'
HE asks what kind
I tell HIM
'Last years 'put up' blueberries'
HE grabs HIS gun
And for a moment I can't breath.
All I want to do is scream
'Shoot Me Damn It! '
Anything to stop this pain even for a bit….
Then HE leaves again.
I take my pie out of its hell
And put it on the rack.
I look at my own flour-covered paw.
I think 'lucky fox' as
I chew it off with
molten blueberry teeth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem