Narrative Poem

Brianna Bridges

Ms. McKoy

English 2-Block 1

03 October 2013

The Shadows of Childhood Memories

Why is he doing this to us?

It’s beginning to hurt so much.

Is it because he experienced his father’s suicide?

Are these events somehow intertwined?

 

Punching, kicking, and bleeding,

Does all of this have to do with what he is feeling?

Why doesn’t he listen to what I have to say?

All I can do is kneel and pray.

 

Coming home from school could get very scary.

Making sure all thirteen coats were hung perfectly, which could get kind of hairy.

This is the first thing he notices to end our school day,

Hoping and praying there are no beatings today.

 

I count my brothers and sisters from one to thirteen,

Trying to figure out why father can be so mean.

 

He sits up a boxing ring in the middle of the room,

Sending us all, all to our doom.

He hands us our punching gloves,

Expecting us to fight our anger out with kicks and shoves.

 

Me being the second from the oldest of a family of thirteen,

I protected the babies because father is so mean.

Spanking and beating all thirteen for one that did wrong,

Not understanding why we all took the fall.

 

After a long day of school and our daily beatings have seized,

Now for dinner as there are a lot of mouths to feed.

Helping mother in the kitchen was my daily chore.

Peeling a ten pound of potatoes until my fingers hit the floor.

All bellies are full time to clean the mess,

Sure wish it was time to go get some rest.

 

Homework was due by the next school day,

Getting help from father there was no way.

I still don’t like fractions until this day,

He would knock me off the stool and make me feel like clay.

 

Escaping to my hidden tree to find peace to complete.

I would find myself dozing off to sleep.

Heading to bed it’s been a long, long day.

I am glad the beatings are over today,

Praying to God that he takes my bruises away.

 

The weirdest part about this whole situation,

Is all thirteen children looking at their father in his casket with no devastation.

Child abuse can be an excuse for many people,

But has made me a stronger person that is thanking the steeple.

Although I might have some scars until this day,

My father is at rest and my bruises are faded away.