So we start with my father as a boy barely spoke a word of english fell in love from a distance. He watched her working from the back fence.
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He learned some words and some clever turns of phrase from his father's book of poets.
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She wasn't taken in that instant, but grew impressed with his persistence.
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They met each other out by moonlight, made love in the nearby woods, then her folks became suspicious when her cycle broke that settled it.
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They stole away without their goodbyes, got married in a foreign town, made their way as best as they could. Found jobs and settled down. And then time moved on.
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I was born in a river of blood on sheets from the wedding day.
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The room was dark and the stench was thick.
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My father couldn't stand the smell of it.
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Mama died in the night cause the nearest doctor couldn't stem the blood loss.
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Father cried out on the back porch.
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My sister held me at the neighbor's house.
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Oh my there was a storm then, there was a flood of a different kind.
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Father's eyes were often vacant, but his hands were rarely quiet.
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Sister learned to take her hits well, both from life and the physical kind.
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But I was never one to lie down, despite picked the fight.
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So we designed our hells.
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Father turned into a drinker, a dark bastard with a wooden heart.
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Sister learned to be a mother, before she never played another part.
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And I became a little terror, I lashed out at whatever's around.
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Took some time before I settled, to find a mind that was somewhat sound.
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And like it always does, time rushed on.
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Six years later father dies in the very same bedroom.
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Many said it was the grief that did it.
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I have to say it's cause he hung himself.
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To be honest neither sister nor myself ever much reqret his passing.
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But I admit it was a nice thing, to always know that we could feed ourselves.
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Family Portrait
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Radical Face |