No John of God
By khf
He laughs
Clown-in-the-funhouse style
and
pokes my breast
or
pokes my breast first
then clown laughs
Maybe he says,
I like your pin… Poke. Laugh.
Possibly he says,
Your pin is pretty…then… Laugh. Poke.
I remember the wallpaper in the hallway
such a strange thing to recall
Williamsburg. Formal. Floral. Red. Blue. White. Grand colonial flourishes
I picked out myself
His--
that would be my brother-in-law--
Big-Toe Finger
stiff
erect
targeting my chest
An isolated, lonely convergence of
a sexual sucker punch
and
a sacrificial wounding
Of course,
sacrificial wounding is expected
of a woman
To martyr her breast
on the altar of civility
Somewhere Baby Jesus lay swaddled in a manger
of bone china
translucent in the candlelight
of flickering sweet vanilla
The rustle of gift bags
stuffed with Christmas cookies
I made from scratch
with
chocolate chips, chopped walnuts, confectioners sugar
specially and joyfully
for this in-law gathering
The lingering scent of fresh-baked apple pie
A dozen Granny Smiths
peeled
sliced into thin perfection with my own hands
enrobed in sugar and cinnamon
carefully placed into a piecrust of my own making
Do you know that piecrust is the bane of every home baker?
Then the grand finish--
thick, heavy cream
whole eggs
whisked into a froth
poured over the apples
A bath of culinary decadence
Cure for every hurt
Created especially for this holiday festivity
And here I stand
among baubles and pine cones
goodbyes and well wishes
Silent Night stuck on repeat
drifting in from the stereo
No John of God’s Big-Toe Finger
poking the spongy flesh
of my breast…clown laughing
Here I am
in my own hallway
I alone adorned
with tinsel and carved Santas
specifically for this occasion
Blindsided
Singled out
Hurled into
the chilled plunge pool
of sexual aggression
Wrenched away
from this gathering
of family
Jerked out of the evening’s high spirits
Forced into
a singular icy moment
Imprisoned in his world
of sexual gluttony
Humiliated
Disassembled
Incarcerated
Alone
With him
Solitary and confined
With him
as his Big-Toe Finger
fingers my breast
Trapping me in the unholy land of JUST
where a woman is molded
into a Barbie doll
shrink wrapped
in personal prejudice
against herself
Where JUST is weaponized
Used as a hammer
to belittle and silence
to blind her
I am calcified
riding the floorboards
lurching beneath me
Wrestling with my own bias
trained in martyrdom
abandoning myself
betraying my spirit--
the light trying to guide me--
for a man who sexually assaults me
on this occasion of Christmas
Feet away from Baby Jesus
and my homemade offerings
that he consumed with abandon
All because…
It’s JUST John
It’s no big deal--
It’s JUST John being JOHN
John is JUST a kidder
John JUST fools around
like that
After all…
John JUST…ONLY…MERELY…SIMPLY
poked your breast
John pokes my breast
He laughs
Others laugh
And in a feeble attempt to regain dignity
—the exact second I betray myself--
I, too, laugh…it off
In these last minutes
the party I so carefully
and blissfully orchestrated
crumples
into a pile of dirty dishes
a rubble of cheap, unwanted re-gifts
and the impaled image
of his Big-Toe Finger
—that sexual sucker punch--
poking my breast
I cannot redo those moments
of assault
and sacrificial wounding
or infuse them with belated personal courage
But…
I can reclaim them
I can see them
I can name them
for what they are
And in an act of self-love
smash the authority of JUST
and shine light
Candlelight Starlight Moonlight Flood light Spot Light
Headlight Flashlight Street Light Daylight
Sunlight
on this
No John of God
khf/11.24.22
By khf
He laughs
Clown-in-the-funhouse style
and
pokes my breast
or
pokes my breast first
then clown laughs
Maybe he says,
I like your pin… Poke. Laugh.
Possibly he says,
Your pin is pretty…then… Laugh. Poke.
I remember the wallpaper in the hallway
such a strange thing to recall
Williamsburg. Formal. Floral. Red. Blue. White. Grand colonial flourishes
I picked out myself
His--
that would be my brother-in-law--
Big-Toe Finger
stiff
erect
targeting my chest
An isolated, lonely convergence of
a sexual sucker punch
and
a sacrificial wounding
Of course,
sacrificial wounding is expected
of a woman
To martyr her breast
on the altar of civility
Somewhere Baby Jesus lay swaddled in a manger
of bone china
translucent in the candlelight
of flickering sweet vanilla
The rustle of gift bags
stuffed with Christmas cookies
I made from scratch
with
chocolate chips, chopped walnuts, confectioners sugar
specially and joyfully
for this in-law gathering
The lingering scent of fresh-baked apple pie
A dozen Granny Smiths
peeled
sliced into thin perfection with my own hands
enrobed in sugar and cinnamon
carefully placed into a piecrust of my own making
Do you know that piecrust is the bane of every home baker?
Then the grand finish--
thick, heavy cream
whole eggs
whisked into a froth
poured over the apples
A bath of culinary decadence
Cure for every hurt
Created especially for this holiday festivity
And here I stand
among baubles and pine cones
goodbyes and well wishes
Silent Night stuck on repeat
drifting in from the stereo
No John of God’s Big-Toe Finger
poking the spongy flesh
of my breast…clown laughing
Here I am
in my own hallway
I alone adorned
with tinsel and carved Santas
specifically for this occasion
Blindsided
Singled out
Hurled into
the chilled plunge pool
of sexual aggression
Wrenched away
from this gathering
of family
Jerked out of the evening’s high spirits
Forced into
a singular icy moment
Imprisoned in his world
of sexual gluttony
Humiliated
Disassembled
Incarcerated
Alone
With him
Solitary and confined
With him
as his Big-Toe Finger
fingers my breast
Trapping me in the unholy land of JUST
where a woman is molded
into a Barbie doll
shrink wrapped
in personal prejudice
against herself
Where JUST is weaponized
Used as a hammer
to belittle and silence
to blind her
I am calcified
riding the floorboards
lurching beneath me
Wrestling with my own bias
trained in martyrdom
abandoning myself
betraying my spirit--
the light trying to guide me--
for a man who sexually assaults me
on this occasion of Christmas
Feet away from Baby Jesus
and my homemade offerings
that he consumed with abandon
All because…
It’s JUST John
It’s no big deal--
It’s JUST John being JOHN
John is JUST a kidder
John JUST fools around
like that
After all…
John JUST…ONLY…MERELY…SIMPLY
poked your breast
John pokes my breast
He laughs
Others laugh
And in a feeble attempt to regain dignity
—the exact second I betray myself--
I, too, laugh…it off
In these last minutes
the party I so carefully
and blissfully orchestrated
crumples
into a pile of dirty dishes
a rubble of cheap, unwanted re-gifts
and the impaled image
of his Big-Toe Finger
—that sexual sucker punch--
poking my breast
I cannot redo those moments
of assault
and sacrificial wounding
or infuse them with belated personal courage
But…
I can reclaim them
I can see them
I can name them
for what they are
And in an act of self-love
smash the authority of JUST
and shine light
Candlelight Starlight Moonlight Flood light Spot Light
Headlight Flashlight Street Light Daylight
Sunlight
on this
No John of God
khf/11.24.22