In those days the lash was standard,
preferably dad’s leather ones—
belt, buckle. A father’s touch.
They’d played with matches in the car,
singed the soft upholstery. The stench
of smoke, stuck to their clothes,
led to kids age six and eight. Rage
bellowed through the crowded house
as they scrambled for a hiding place.
Her brother’s−found in seconds. She heard
his screams, the cadence of repeated blows,
clung to the spot dad wouldn’t find her,
hung like a bat from the mattress springs
suspended, clutching its metal nest,
counting hour-like seconds as reprieve, till
found, he grabbed her ballet foot,
yanked at her until she fell, doomed,
and leather laced her scrawny form with zeal.
Mariana Mcdonald is a poet, writer, scientist, and activist. Her work has appeared in numerous publications, including poetry in Crab Orchard Review, Lunch Ticket, and The New Verse News; fiction in So to Speak and Cobalt; and creative nonfiction in Longridge Review and HerStry. She co-authored with Margaret Randall the recently-released Dominga Rescues the Flag/Dominga rescata la bandera, the story of black Puerto Rican heroine Dominga de la Cruz. Mcdonald lives in Atlanta, Georgia.
My Hospital Bed by Hubertine Heijermans