Omerta

Last night I dreamed that
my father was holding me
as he had never held me
In my lap I nursed a tiny puppy
that was not mine
'I don't want to talk about the past'
he said, 'it will only make me cry'
Voices seep through walls, beome internal
His voice too big with bragging and beer
for tiny straining ears
"I'm gonna take my kids
line 'em all up in the road
then I'm gonna run 'em down,
in my truck... run 'em all down"

A baby, born blue and cold
wrapped and stowed
away from his hands
that for years had lain on her only in hate
Hands practised in dicipline
My uncle carried a scar on his cheek
- into conscription and then old age-
from a poker kept in the fire
for that very purpose

A child walks her dog , sent up the hill
to the keeper, a crack shot
and not squeamish
Though as it turned out
almost every cottage had a dog

Twice a year
kittens were drowned
in the wash tub, one by one
And one summer a tearful little girl
wondered why her pet was dropped
out of the back of the car in a quiet lane
'she's too clingy, too soft hearted'
"stop crying or we'll leave you here"

I remember my grandmother's voice
not as words, but half whispered syllables
her eyes turned always to the floor, the window
to the chain-smoking woman, turning her shins
to crackling with both bars glowing like fag-ends
This is how I learned the code
My Auntie's madness, my Grandfather's violence
drowned in a well of thick brown tea
And sweets enough to stop our gobs
took the place of love