The Rumble Down the Family Tree

My Mother
   follows me
   down the stairs
   of my life
    my years.
Small woman
   of anger
     my terror!

Striking me
   with tongue
   and hand
Violence in words
   quips at table
   and rest.
We each
   my older sister and I
   huddled inside
   ourselves
   circling the wagons
   preparing for attacks
     for sharp arrows
     for deep wounds
        which we only discovered
        years after the assault.

Always hidden
   like so many families
We both pretended
   we were O.K.
But our children's lives
   betray our secret
   they bear the scars
   of our Mother's
      tongue and hand!
Our children pass on the
   echo of the violence
   down
   down the generations
   this specter of shadow
   this destructiveness
   so insidious
   so secret
   so painful.

My Mother has
   ceased her rule
   she's feeble
      memory fading
      her hand and tongue
         not so strong
But we still
   enthrown her out of habit
   giving her her due
      and as she fades
      from this world into memory
      behind her
      miles behind her
         we see many other
         women
             ancient
                with raised hand
                 with biting tongue
         we hear the thunder of violence
            rumbling down
               our family tree!







April 2004