I was small

   and wanted arms

   strong and welcoming

which would open and

encircle me in love.

Hold me

   my small heart

   and tiny body asked.

Hold the child.

Show me love.

Your arms were there

   but stiff.

And when they opened

there were hands

   not to welcome

   but to pry.

Because I could not

trust those hands

I have never known

the love of father's arms.

Bath Time

Bath time was fun!

Warm water

   sometimes bubbly

and a funny shade on my head

to keep shampoo from my eyes

so I wouldn't cry.

Darkness outside

and warm lights in the house.

Usually Mother washed me.

Sometimes Daddy helped.

I didn't know

that he was having "extra" fun.

When he laughed

he laughed with me -

or so I thought

because I was only three.

Then I was thirty, bathing myself.

I realized I seldom washed.

I scrubbed

   scraping away the dirt

   of a confused memory.

Now my tears are not from shampoo.

I weep for the innocent little girl

who couldn't know

the darkness yet to come.

Rules

Lessons.

Little girls sit still

   and don't twirl their skirts

   so much.

Don't tattle.

Talk nice to grown-ups.

Don't talk to strangers -

   they might hurt you.

Mind Mommy

   and Daddy.

Knowledge

Play and pleasure

changed to fear and mistrust

the day that someone said

"That's not the way

Parents and children act."

I'd never known that before.

And now I had a terrible secret

which I could never tell -

ever.

Daughters love to sit

on daddies' laps.

Me too.

I would scramble up

at the end of the day.

We'd talk until Mother left the room.

Then we'd "play."

Now I know

why I watch so carefully

little girls sitting

on their daddies' laps.

Four Years Old

I always sang for company.

You'd play piano

and I'd sing good night

   or dance a bit.

Everybody liked the show.

Even me.

I was used to performing

   for you.

Mysterious Delight

Company came

and I got to stay up late

with the grown-ups

because I was the biggest.

They'd laugh and sing

   play cards and tell jokes

   that I didn't understand.

Everybody said

I was Daddy's little girl.

And I'd smile

as you picked me up

to give me a kiss.

You'd give my bottom

a special pat

as you held me.

Then when I got down

you'd laugh.

It was a special laugh,

as if it contained

years of repressed delight.

I can still hear that laugh.

It scares me.

Obedience

You insisted.

I crinkled my face

and my lip quivered

but you took my hand

so I followed you

   small steps

   doubling large.

If I drew back

you'd give my arm a jerk

and it was hard to keep my balance

so I followed.

I obeyed.

Children do that, after all.

Why do you hate me, Daddy?

I'm a nice girl.

I behave.

I do what Mommy tells me

and I talk nice to all the grown-ups.

Look, Daddy,

See?

I smile.

I hardly every cry anymore.

But you want more.

What is it you want?

I'll do anything you say.

I want you to like me.

Please.

Charming Child

Funny, but I know

I was a charming child.

It was natural.

Children love learning and life.

People liked me

because I seemed to be

especially delighted by living.

I was.

But somewhere in those days

I also learned

what it means to be not sure

   of people

   of parents

   or the possibility of tomorrow.

The charming child

had a whirlpool insider her

and constantly pulled herself

away from its destruction.

I fought to keep my spirit

alive.

Coaxing

When I'd hesitate

you'd coax me.

Your voice was unusually

   nice

   enticing.

I'd acquiesce

because I didn't know

how to disagree

and I hoped someday

to please you.

Protection

Nobody took care of me.

I was seven

and I couldn't run away.

I couldn't tell

nor shield myself.

I was small.

Children need protection.

But nobody knew.

Nobody took care of me.