Art’s avuncular fingers plunged deep into my girlish flesh,
plowed furrows,
planted seeds of rage that grew into Sequoias that stretched upward
to scratch his deeds into the very sky
beckoning Mom’s eyes,
demanding that she countenance his crimes.
Then, having at last seen, she might beg me for absolution.
C. Christine Fair is an associate professor within the School of Foreign Service at Georgetown University. She has published poetry in the Dime Show Review and The Bark and has pieces forthcoming in Clementine Unbound and Badlands Literary Journal. She also published a short story in New Reader Magazine. Her scholarly website is christinefair.net; her blog is shortbustoparadise.wordpress.com. She tweets at cchristinefair where, for some reason, she has some 42,600 followers.
Seems weird pressing “like” considering the content. Very powerful piece of work, eliciting anger and sadness in this reader.
I also struggled with “like”. But it’s a brilliant piece of writing.
So powerful. So perfect in getting the point across. Tough topic, wonderful piece.
Good work. There are too many uncle Arts, and not enough people who will talk about it or listen.
Solid. Looking forward to seeing more from you.
best wishes,
Bob
‘Like’ for the power of truth and excellent writing. Happening too often. So sad, so angry.
That was tough! Hard to return to my life. Perfect.
There may have been better words to use than “avuncular” or “countenance”