No Brother, No Time

A child, but old
enough to know
That he was wrong
and she was sane.
When cake was in
the mix of pain.
When all she needed
was exchange of words
to fetch her educational
attire. But what instead
you passed was stone and
fire. The bigger the brain
the smaller the mind, when
all that mattered was knowledge
and gain, of words not yours,
of thoughts not worth the
breath inhaled. Mother exhaled,
but you? You leapt to anger
from behind spiked trees
like dogs and gods of
mightless power.

You win the battle, 'tween you and me, 
but lost the war in all you glory.
For I will never again regard
a father who cannot himself respect.
Who loses his baby in all the
bathwater of fight and fume
in petition and perdition.
In litigation I hear you proclaim in
fit and rage that I am no
child of yours. Well here
I am to tell you that what you represent
in all your counter and petition
is nothing but superstition
and violation of all those
you care not to call
my family. My mother and me.
My brother and auntie.
My cousin and grandparents.
You failed mon pere, to see, that my
schooling lowly in comparison
to all your college Latin
and meals at Inns, were useless as
a sick severed brain
sitting in a sweltering stinking box.
The family is all I have, mon pere.
What else? Mon pere? What else?


by Marilyn Rodwell