Arkansas Circus

Looking Back; Turning to Ash

Looking back thirty years, I turn to ash;

not salt like Lot’s wife, just ash. That childhood

was not to be looked back upon, white trash

Bible in hand . . . oh, yeah, you preached it good,

didn’t you? “Turn the other cheek!” But God

never deigned to speak to us, thine, or thee!

At some age, I learned your lie—spare the rod . . .

I swore you off, but you never leave me.

 

Those memories of parental love, lash,

angry word-knives, soul butchery. What could

we treasure from that wrecked ship? The mish-mash:

infrequent daytrips? Fishing? What fish could

be pulled out of Woe’s broad river? What broad

umbrella of grace might catch your rain? Three

his, we two yours—seven seeds for hell’s sod.

I swore off sorrow —it never leaves me . . .

 

to any sort of lasting peace. The crash

and wail, the dance and scream, leather or wood

in the hand of a madwoman, you . . . smash

it down with fiend-fired eyes and rage withstood

by flesh while souls splinter—this is the GOD

you taught your five charges. But we can see

behind lies’ curtain—knew its, and your, fraud

I forgave you then; this never leaves me

 

absolved, though I pray it gone. So, how would

we know? At ten then, now at forty, free

as any sinner in hell. At manhood

I swore you off, but you never leave me.

 

David M Pitchford

19 November 2007 / rev. 18 December 2007/ Rev. 15 May 2008