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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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A Cup Full of Humble Fragrance #470789 added November 23, 2006 at 6:52pm
Restrictions: None
Gotcha!
There, as soon as I turned the corner, I drowned in the sweet smell of old...the same old road, giving me a feeling of warmth--an actual bodily warm--while stuffing its dust into my lungs again, choking, and hugging me at the same time. Its brutal dimensions, now that I was carrying Millie in my arms, appeared to stretch farther and wider than before, all the way to the wire fence.
That is the same fence I had jumped over. A symbol for the time I became a farmer’s scourge, the farmer being my pa. At first, he didn’t know of the trouble I picked because Ma held it from him. He learned it soon enough, on account of the whole town talking and me acting like the sheep, lying around fattening up each day.
When he learned it though, he got crazed mad, I'm sure. I knew he was boiling because he never said anything. Pa's not a man of words. He’s a doer.
One day, I came downstairs; he was sitting with his rifle on his lap by the fire and didn’t even turn to look at us. Ma motioned me to be quiet. I was terrified...not with fear or panic, but with shame.
I didn't even pause, but reached for my jacket by the door and lunged out running. Just like that.
I heard Ma calling after me but I kept running until the wire fence. Jumping over it, I tore my leg up, but I didn’t care. I ran all the way to Aunt’s Jane’s, with blood dripping and all. Aunt Jane got on the phone and called Ma. Afterwards, she told me, she couldn’t keep me there on account of Uncle Bill, but she knew of another place. Then, she took me to the Mather House run by the sisters.
That’s where I stayed hidden. That’s where I had Millie. Ma came to see me several times. The first days, she kept on saying that Pa'd tried to shoot that boy, but by then, Jeffrey had skipped town.
It had been a one day thing with Jeffrey. He read my signals wrong, he said. How? I never understood. Because I kept saying, “No, Jeffrey. No, Jeffrey. I can't. I got Pa. No, Jeffrey!” But he had already unzipped and held me down. Jeffrey was a wrestler and I was no match for him.
When I knew about Millie and told him, he said, “Your problem.” Then, he shrugged and walked away as if he'd bitten into a wormy apple.
The last time Ma called, she said, "Time to mend the fences. Your Pa's come around." So I picked Millie and a small backpack for some of her baby things, and not sure what was going to happen, I left the sisters. I figured I’d take a chance. Too late for apologizing, but maybe, I’d throw myself at Pa's mercy and beg.
Suddenly I heard it...the crack of a twig. Next, I saw Pa coming from the fields. He jumped over the wire fence just the way I’d done but he didn’t tear nothin'. Except his face, electrified red, the color of his checkered flannel shirt, was sweating. He stopped, winced, and held his side. He looked as if he’d go splat down if the ground didn’t hold him up. I felt my heart thumping. I didn’t panic though.
We stared at one another. No words. Tears came to my eyes, I don’t know from where since I am not the crying kind.
“What’d think I’d do to you, Girl? Running away like that..”
“I’m sorry, Pa. Didn’t mean to hurt you,” my voice was breaking in pieces.
“Gotcha! You couldn't figure me out, yeah? ”
He was kinder to me than I'd expected. He reached for my backpack, but avoided looking at Millie.
“Thanks, Pa.”
“No, I ain’t mad at ya. I look at it differently, now that I’ve mulled it over.”
“What do you mean, Pa?”
“The same thing as being stung by a black widow spider. That’s what happened to you.”
“Exactly, Pa. Thanks, Pa.”
“Game’s over, Girl. You got responsibilities now.”
“I know Pa. I understand.”
“Go, get in the house. Get that baby out of the sun. Ma’s made chicken.”
A change had come over him. I didn’t know what. He followed me from the back. Just before crossing the threshold, I turned around to look at him. He had tears that didn’t flow freely. To avoid my eyes he held the door, fiddling around with the doorknob. I knew then that his crying was with no tears. I knew it because I’m the same way.
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