Through caustic haze
its rank-truth gnarled eyes like sulfur
from a million lit match heads
For that brother cried tears like child when beaten
and of life too often badgered
we wallowed in her anointing waters, eyes glazed
nonetheless baptized in her wretched stench
soon to be bearer of the deceased
We swam against currents of upbringing
of swift yet guiding hand
and of a mother’s tainted earth
upstream through shit strewn toil
seeking to ravage
the bile of viscous malignancy
We the antithesis
staff in hand like Moses himself
disquiet the silence of life laden surges
children of utter dissension flailing about
separating resilience from frailty
as we the assailants congregate
o’er throngs far too unwitting and innocent—
the bastard child beating back tides
of death’s decay
undeserving of life’s childlike wrath
We dumb to the staunchness
no sense could disguise
in grace exhumed, no mother’s womb
a mere child less his reprimand
of a father long since departed
Yet but for the frequent urgency
and of mother’s angry wielding hand
the secret remained our own
and but for the rotting stench
of steadfast cessation upon my hands
left unfound
Lest mother all Commandment, “the commencement”
rod in hand like savior
turn “Slaughter into Swine” as I the child
finds life too deserv’ed a like redemption
pulsed in bitter reproach
a lore suddenly staunch with affliction
stands fast for current declaration
For neath and behind to plague me
in learn’ed, crimson pulsation
one behind to bear the reprisal
of child-begotten idiosyncrasy
Killing dead Fish
As children me my brother and several friends used to wade through waist-high water of a river that was better left to that of its own device. The smell coming off of this river was to say the least “rude and rank.”
With sticks in hand we would round up as many helpless fish as we could and bash them into deadly submission until
as many were dead as was inhumanly possible.
The mission was to kill as many as we could then to head home and try not to let our parents find out what we had been up to.
Please keep in mind we were merely young, stupid children when we did these things, so please don’t get upset with such childlike behavior as I am now 45 and for sure understand the nature and depth of my childish mishap.
The last two verses simply refer to the deception we kept and the potential repercussion of having been found out. My mother was a no nonsense lady when it came to doing right and wrong.
Had I indeed been caught she’d have tanned my ass good, hence the last 8 lines tell of a right and justifiable ass whooping the likes of which would have caused me to have to stand for quite a while following it….
The lines “Lest mother all commandment, the commencement” refers to mom and how she not only laid down the letter of the law, but was in fact the letter of the law.
“Turn Slaughter into Swine” obviously refers to how such reprimand turned our act of killing fish into tears upon having had my butt kicked by mom.
LisaG, 4 months ago
Steve,
There is an almost confessional feel to this piece of writing….I’m not a priest but I am a friend – and I thank you for sharing a childhood memory that some might keep hidden away.
Very well written…..
Leon Walker, 4 months ago
Well Steve you have really presented a powerful reflection here. I was recently thinking of a story of something pretty bad I did as a kid. Fortunately it did not involve nature but the feeling of guilt in retrospect is surprising. This is fantastic as usual!!!
Symmetry44, 4 months ago
Thank you both very much
Brett Foster, 4 months ago
We all have our little plagues man but this one has been beautifully and honestly revealed. Excellent!
Symmetry44 in reply to Brett Foster’s comment, 4 months ago
Thanks brother. I try to view every scenario the same as anyone else would, but project it in a way that makes you think apart from normal processes.
I appreciate the comments….
Peace….
Helen Bascom KMA, 4 months ago
Wow, confession time. Yes, had your mother caught you no doubt she would have tanned that ass good. Odd how the psychological mechanisms of conscience and self control develop at their own pace. You killed the fish for boyhood sport, but hid your deed because you knew you would catch it from mom if discovered. Fantastic writing.