Christmas Rape Series

2
Later in the living room his mother sat smugly celebrating her conquest, a full three weeks after she'd outed his uncle for what he really was. While watching a biopic on intolerance or Oprah or whatever blather she was entertained by, his mother channeled Harper Lee with her indignant expression and response to questions asked thousands of miles away and a full day before. He sarcastically agreed with her accepting position and excused himself from the room, wondering whether her conscience had any understanding of hypocrisy or if she'd still be giving him ten dollars to donate to African American scholarships. It made her feel better and he always pocketed the money. Later when he saw Tim on main street he'd hand him the ten and share a joke and maybe a drink. Tim hit the bottle pretty heavily much to the dismay of the boy's mother who treated him as common swine. She tended to glide by him, head in the air, talking of how sad it was that some people never really tried to better themselves. The boy always smiled, winked at Tim, and gestured to the fat diamond ring on his mother's finger and said "I'm glad we're not like that mother".

Christmas Rape Series

1
His existential musings had never once led far beyond the width of a stone path. His curiosity unable to match the power of tradition. He feigned excitement on a clay countenance that reminded him of the faces he made in dough at his grandfather's bakery. Jesus, Mary and Joseph became a loaf. Jane Marie's smile became a keepsake when he dropped it on the floor and hid it from his grandfather. Her lack of teeth was satisfied by sugared confections and later removed due to the exploits of a sweet-toothed lover. Toothless and dry made her uninteresting to the boy who tossed her out the second story window, presumably to be torn and snapped by hungry crows. He smiled imagining a crow sucking in her lips, only to find that filled on her sweet flesh it could no longer fly. When an alley cat strode by that evening, he'd find a stuffed bird like mother made at thanksgiving, legs raised, plucked, savory. Ready to be pillaged and conquered in honor of hypocritical fore fathers whose exploits are forever celebrated in football and tryptophan. Curiosity getting the best of a thus retarded cat is manifested in the thud under his uncle's blue sedan being whisked away on the furious torrent of childhood memories. Mother having used her home court advantage to reminisce on circumstances nobody yet knew of, and a lover that none knew existed outside of the oft flipped through pages of a yearbook belonging to a family of elephants.

spero

devo stare?
il mio cuoro mi dica che
il mondo è morto
se non stai qua
la mia vita è corto.
saresti parlare?
quando il mio voce è
vuoto della passione
e ho paura come
un bambino giovane
che non sa cosa deve fare.