Daddy’s little girl

69-story.jpg

he stretched and ripped her private flesh,
to fit the filthy image in his loins
wiped away the baby chuckles
besmirched her childish games and toys

who but he may dress his special girl
in the white of a virgin fantasy
make her his little bride
at another secret father’s day party?
who but he who shot the seed
may relieve his incestuous ache
against her embrionic womb?
and who but she has the means?

later, in the neighbours garden
as his traitorous fluid leaks down her legs
she seeks her small rebellion

a flash of cleansing flame
a choking glow that she, at least, has chosen
a few fetid intakes of breath
imitating freedom

there are faster, kinder entries
to liberty or death’s escape
but she is too young to know the words
or the ways
and too old to wipe the slate

Written for Michelle‘s Photo Fiction #56

©Jane Paterson Basil

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48 thoughts on “Daddy’s little girl

        1. A lot of people blog to release that pain. As for me, I write because I breathe. I like to highlight important issues when I’m not dripping my own blood all over the page. Sometimes I even manage to be humorous, though not at the moment.

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  1. Reminds me quite a bit of the poems Candice Daquin writes at feathered sleep. Hers too are raw and hold back no punches. It’s real and making it public will make people stop and think. Write what your heart tells you to – it’s all good 🙂

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            1. We recently had a local case involving a 10 month old baby at the hands of a 19 year old boy. What he did to her – she was maimed for life. The judge said it was the worst case he’d ever seen. The perpetrator had the same name as (but wasn’t) my son. They were both in the same prison, and if anyone had got them mixed up, my son would probably be dead. Normal prisoners don’t like crimes like that, which is why such criminals have to be in a separate block.

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              1. i am writing a book on death currently, which means a lot of research on the subject as well. since i am particularly drawn to issues that deal with women and children, some of the info that turns up gives me sleepless nights. and when i write about them in my stories, its like i am living those moments myself. though i have read many many really gory stories, there is one that comes up in my mind every time i hear of child abuse. the case of baby briana. look it up…and cry! we live in a society where people such as these exist. are we humans?

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                1. I just looked it up. The words blur as I write. Whatever I say will have been said a million times before. How do we stop it? More vigilance would help.
                  My eldest grandson’s father (my daughter’s partner, who died a few weeks before my grandson was born) had been victim to repeated child abuse by his stepfather, before we knew him. His mother stood by and watched it, as did his whole family. There was one teenage relaitive who did his best to nurture Mark, but he didn’t have the courage to call in the authorities. He was finally taken away at 13. The family claimed that social services were called in because he was a ‘naughty boy.’ There was no conviction.
                  I loved Mark, and even now, 20 years after his death from natural causes, I want to break into his stepfather’s house and cut him to pieces for the things he did.

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  2. I find it refreshing to read work that deals with difficult subjects. There are no means for addressing them if they are not first conversations. There’s only twice before where I’ve felt the impact of words in the way that I felt the impact of yours in this poem. A couple of Sufjan Stevens songs and the poetry of an old friend who wrote of the gritty life of youth in Northern Ireland during the Troubles. Beautiful, hard-hitting expression of the tragedy and horror of childhood incestuous abuse.

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