sum·mer/ˈsəmər/ the warmest season of the year, in the northern hemisphere from June to August
I was sent away in the summer of ’78
to a grandma’s house in Spearfish, South Dakota.
a step daughter to a step-dad,
living on a farm, with folks I’d never met.
new dad drove a big red Ford. he used it to haul things.
“it’s just up this road” he said.
but the road was long, and not a house in sight.
a beat-up mailbox marked the spot
to a path that led nowhere;
or so it seemed.
toothy tires gnawed at the trail-
spitting gravel, like new dad spit
chaw. a silhouette farmhouse rose
against the twilight's amber hues
there were other things too.
they came, like bugs to a light.
“cousins,“ he said. but, I saw, strangers;
feral cats multiplying,
with every blink.
creatures,
with hand-me-down clothes, and
homegrown haircuts.
the grandma’s face was in the window
and then, at the door.
“Bernice was a baby maker,” I heard mama say, once.
as the grandma lore goes, she pushed
twelve kids into this world. all with a
Pall Mall in one hand, and a PBR in the other.
new cousins were locusts-
descending.
always claiming they were headed to clean
the slough. “Don’t come back all tar heeled 'nfull a piss now.”
the grandma liked to bellow. i still hear her
through that blistered summer wind
the children
were quick to holler back
with yes’ms, uh huhs, and so on-
the biggest boy kindly warned me...
“don’t mess with that minx. she eats glass
and shits fire.”
I was the only one who laughed.
I learned that it was fear that made them feral.
and love here, was kept on a tight leash.
“Best to be outside when you hear the shouts”
another cousin told me. this time, I didn’t
laugh. I saw, the grandpa dole out beatings-
watched the grandma take it, like a man.
“bigger man than him,” I’d say. under my breath.
i heard the grandpa wore diapers in the end. died
uneventful-like. he's buried behind a broken
down barn- no headstone, we think,
Bernice outlived seven of her kids, spread over the Dakota’s
possibly, at the age of 87, and probably with most
ruthless surety, a Pall Mall in one hand,
and a PBR, in the other.
Comments