The Strap Poem by Lillian Susan Thomas

She would tell one of us to bring
The cowboy belt - her favorite because
Mother knew how much we feared its sting
That bit with rhinestone stars and silver studs.
Coiled and tense in sweaty hand it came.
In my mind that belt was a God-damned snake.
I could not hate her, so the strap got all the blame;
Or I would rail against myself for some mistake.
Refusing to look upon her angry face,
All I saw were bolts of writhing fury
Animating leather with serpent grace,
To break upon a dancing, shrieking child.
Striking! Until deplete of venom, it dropped
From the exhausted arm that finally stopped.

But more than how it felt upon the skin,
I loathed it for corrupting us so young.
We believed each time our plots to hide it could win
And the pact we made among ourselves was strong:
'Next time when she says the cowboy belt, don't go!
It's hid good this time. We'll all forget.'
It was buried in the attic's farthest furrow.
But someone tempted by fear would always betray
Our quivering prayers, 'Please don't bring it to Mother! '
But try as we may to teach ourselves the higher lesson -
To be strong enough to care about each other -
That strap beat into us the lower truth:
When in the clutch of power and threat of pain
Right is forfeit to the skin again.