THE SAGA OF LITTLE BILL
AND HIS FALLEN NIECE, KATHLEEN
by khf
I loved him once.
How he said my name.
Broke it into three syllables.
That “ahhh” in the middle--
a tiny sachet of music.
You should’ve seen
how the light
played with his curls
claimed his eyes
and trickled down into his smile.
I orbited his sun.
Little Bill was born
In the ghetto
of
lust
and
crucifixion
of a minus girl--
her body no more than
charred leavings
after the conquest.
War Times.
Days of swelling orphanages
and wicker baskets
bearing sin and shame
left on the doorsteps
of strangers.
Back when a handsome
skip-town brother
looked awfully guilty
and a tired granny
became a surprise
new mother.
He beat me to the Evans’ doorstep
Little Bill did…
by three years.
I didn’t arrive in a basket
though I might as well have
given my dubious circumstances.
Two Little Orphans
Uncle and Niece
Our spinster aunt--
named after a horse
and blister mean--
took a shine to Little Bill
gave her heart over to
mother-sick worry
and loved him up
through childhood afflictions,
smart aleck, teenage lip,
and the conceit
he developed
somewhere along the way.
Years rushed into decades.
Distance and fond memories--
such poor conductors of incentive.
But…oh…I loved Little Bill.
I loved Little Bill every day.
I loved Little Bill
right up to the day
I didn’t love him anymore.
Butterflies be still!
I jump from the car
tripping over my toes.
Twenty years? Thirty years?
No years for me.
I am right back in Little Bill’s orbit
searching for his sun.
But this is
a doomed gathering
of misfits
and outcasts
dangling by a shabby thread
of false pretenses
and cold blood.
He is lost in a crisis of shadows
barreling backwards
through time
down the dirty trail
back to the ghetto
of
lust
and
crucifixion
where myth
and
gossip collide
and
lives
collapsed
beneath the curse of
violence and biology.
He cries tears of
The Privileged
The Entitled
I cry with him--
trusting
naïve
stupid tears.
I do not
yet know
what hurls towards me
or
how low he will sink
in this quest.
But…
Something…
something drifts on the wind
and I steal a treasure
right out of his hand.
This day
news of his betrayal
arrives
on the limbs of dying stars
aligning
for
one
last
twinkle.
I crumble.
Disintegrate
into the stench
of severed body parts:
Mine. My Mother’s.
Crowbait. Bones. Genitals.
He is a vulture
posing
as
a
humble
weeping
hero.
Atop
Crowbait. Bones. Genitals.
Mine.
My Mother’s.
Aunt Nelly’s
Smiling pretty
on a heap of
Crowbait. Bones. Genitals.
Mine.
My Mother’s.
Aunt Nelly’s
and
the minus girl
buried in the ghetto
of
lust
and
crucifixion.
I am a thief.
A fallen thief.
I stole his treasure.
On this day
I rejoice.
khf/10.10.22
AND HIS FALLEN NIECE, KATHLEEN
by khf
I loved him once.
How he said my name.
Broke it into three syllables.
That “ahhh” in the middle--
a tiny sachet of music.
You should’ve seen
how the light
played with his curls
claimed his eyes
and trickled down into his smile.
I orbited his sun.
Little Bill was born
In the ghetto
of
lust
and
crucifixion
of a minus girl--
her body no more than
charred leavings
after the conquest.
War Times.
Days of swelling orphanages
and wicker baskets
bearing sin and shame
left on the doorsteps
of strangers.
Back when a handsome
skip-town brother
looked awfully guilty
and a tired granny
became a surprise
new mother.
He beat me to the Evans’ doorstep
Little Bill did…
by three years.
I didn’t arrive in a basket
though I might as well have
given my dubious circumstances.
Two Little Orphans
Uncle and Niece
Our spinster aunt--
named after a horse
and blister mean--
took a shine to Little Bill
gave her heart over to
mother-sick worry
and loved him up
through childhood afflictions,
smart aleck, teenage lip,
and the conceit
he developed
somewhere along the way.
Years rushed into decades.
Distance and fond memories--
such poor conductors of incentive.
But…oh…I loved Little Bill.
I loved Little Bill every day.
I loved Little Bill
right up to the day
I didn’t love him anymore.
Butterflies be still!
I jump from the car
tripping over my toes.
Twenty years? Thirty years?
No years for me.
I am right back in Little Bill’s orbit
searching for his sun.
But this is
a doomed gathering
of misfits
and outcasts
dangling by a shabby thread
of false pretenses
and cold blood.
He is lost in a crisis of shadows
barreling backwards
through time
down the dirty trail
back to the ghetto
of
lust
and
crucifixion
where myth
and
gossip collide
and
lives
collapsed
beneath the curse of
violence and biology.
He cries tears of
The Privileged
The Entitled
I cry with him--
trusting
naïve
stupid tears.
I do not
yet know
what hurls towards me
or
how low he will sink
in this quest.
But…
Something…
something drifts on the wind
and I steal a treasure
right out of his hand.
This day
news of his betrayal
arrives
on the limbs of dying stars
aligning
for
one
last
twinkle.
I crumble.
Disintegrate
into the stench
of severed body parts:
Mine. My Mother’s.
Crowbait. Bones. Genitals.
He is a vulture
posing
as
a
humble
weeping
hero.
Atop
Crowbait. Bones. Genitals.
Mine.
My Mother’s.
Aunt Nelly’s
Smiling pretty
on a heap of
Crowbait. Bones. Genitals.
Mine.
My Mother’s.
Aunt Nelly’s
and
the minus girl
buried in the ghetto
of
lust
and
crucifixion.
I am a thief.
A fallen thief.
I stole his treasure.
On this day
I rejoice.
khf/10.10.22