My Mother Her Mother

7

April 3, 2022 by petrujviljoen

The laws, the rules of the house I grew up in. It’s like this or else. The screaming, beaten in. Repeatedly. Day in, day out, year after year. I hear and live her, their voice(s) now (I hear their voice), mother her mother … from difficultly waking, exchausted, get up! I manage one sock, falling asleep on the edge of the bed, School is on!, the other sock and somehow at the breakfast table, being shouted at, hurry and doing and not doing and how lazy, stupid, ugly – I throw up some porridge into the plate, try to eat it expecting her to scream at me to eat it, I’m not expected to, mother turns from the dishes but silenced so long by her mother, the other child at school once there has her face rubbed in the piss puddle she left on the floor and I’m gladly stunned it’s not me, not then, back home, put that away, no, not there, sweep the floor, stand in the dirt! pick that at up, put that away, scrape the pot of pot, No, with your hands! do this now, don’t, don’t don’t do, do, do, you must this not that until nighty-night.

dumb, numb, cold
whether it’s winter or summer –
erased