Heather Pease
DO AS I’M TOLD
an abecedarian
A poem like this should not be written;
because it reveals an awareness of abuse and
concealment of a daughter’s truth through manipulation,
dodging, or denying deceitfulness.
“Exaggerator” was borne as a moniker by this mother’s daughter.
Forgetfulness is such a convenient alibi to challenged memories.
Girls are supposed to be sweet, should love their mother, girls should be polite.
How does it go? Sugar and spice, everything nice?
I tuck tears under a pillow for safe keeping
Just be a quiet little brat, don’t sass back.
Kisses don’t make everything better.
Let’s deny the strange feeling in my tummy from her tickling fingers.
Mommy is dearest, everyone adores her.
Now straighten up, it’s time to pretend for company that
our home is always a happy one.
Perfectly perfect and pious in public
Quiet is hiding in a closet, with a stuffed mouse
Reality is a slammed fist, a threat of a belt then the
spanking -- on bare bottom, panties in a puddle on the floor
The hot red slashes stayed for days to teach me a lesson I never
understood other than to fear her rage, threats are real, only I made her mad.
Value in my family granted if I comply, swallow her denial as my truth
Worth unattainable –no matter how hard I tried to be good
Xtreme revulsion of a skin I wanted to crawl out of with each tickle between thighs
You shouldn’t write poems like this, I say to myself, instead I should
zip it and do as I’m told.