Today we wrap up #VerseLove 2024 at http://www.ethicalela.com with a prompt from Dr. Sarah Donovan, inviting us to choose a favorite prompt from the month and write another poem on that same prompt. I chose Stacey Joy’s In Our Mama’s Kitchens and Fran Haley’s The First Time. A very special thanks to Sarah Donovan and to Two Writing Teachers for giving us a space to write and grow and encourage each other. I look back as a preacher’s kid growing up in a household where one truly never knew which way the ball was coming, and today’s poem takes me back to the first time I knew I needed to hold on tight.
Pastorium Perils
late summer 1971
in rural Reynolds, Georgia
the land of peach trees
in their time of ripeness
Mama was pregnant with
my baby brother and
we were in the den
Mama Daddy and me
when
~~whoosh~~
in through the kitchen door
a naked girl with
long wet hair
streaked through
our house holding a towel
screaming all the way
down the hall
to my parents’ bedroom
locking the door
on her heels her stepdad
pounding and screaming
threatening her life
I recognized them from church
I was five
the girl was a teenager
(with flapping boobs
……and hair….down there?)
her stepdad was drunk
my mother clutched me
carried me like a football
into my room
locked the door
then ran through
the connecting bathroom
I followed, fearful
to stay alone
crawled under their bed
Mama found the girl
huddled in the bottom
of their closet
shaking
crying uncontrollably
wailing for help
Mama comforted her
clothed her
sat on the bed
holding her
called the cops
we listened
in fear for Dad
as we waited
those slurred screams
of fury
are seared
into my memory forever
she comes with me
or I’ll go get
my ruiner
and ruin you
then more voices,
the crash of a lamp
furniture slamming
handcuffs, arrest,
police report
one prominent
family in ruins
exposed
it was the first time
I knew
growing up a preacher’s
kid would bring
a whole cast of
characters always calling
mostly clothed
it was the first time
I saw a naked teenager
running for her life
Common Threads 
You capture SO much in this well-crafted poem. Your word choice. The emotions of the characters. The action. The scariness. And you gave me a glimpse of another side of a peacher’s life. Before, it was only standing tall and speaking after the choir finished singing an uplifting song.
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Thank you, Sally, yes – – there is another side for sure, but the good makes it all worth it. Thanks for reading!
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A very powerful piece of writing. What big memories for you as a little girl. How good that the teenager had a place to come for help. Thank you to your family for being that safe haven, even at your own peril.
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Thank you, Diane! We did start locking the doors after this. She was a member of the youth group, but Mom became obsessive about locks and I know this is why.
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Wow, what a powerful poem and obviously, a very strong memory moment for you. How lucky for that girl that she knew where to go for help.
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Thank you, Erika. She was a member of the youth group at that time.
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Wow. This poem is a keeper. Your line about hair (down there?) really shows us your age. And then of course your mom carrying you like a football, I can totally picture it, and taking you to safety where you hide under the bed and listen to things you will never forget. And while we are living the experience through you we are all imagining all that is unsaid, about why this poor girl came running naked to your house.
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Thank you, Fran. It left quite the impression on me. Dad was not only the preacher, but the youth minister as well. Back in those days, we had youth Bible studies in our home. This girl was a part of that group. She knew the house, she knew us. After this, my mother became obsessive about locking our doors. We lived in a tiny town where nobody ever did…….and then after this, we started locking them. It was a turning point in many ways in those days.
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I totally understand how this tragic event has stayed in your heart, soul, and bones. What a thing to witness! Praise goodness that your family was able to give this dear girl safety. I wonder how she is now. Trauma like that – oh, it is so hard to surmount. This is a fabulous poem. I love how you merged Stacey’s “Mama’s kitchen” with Fran’s “first time;” deftly and beautifully done. Kim, I want to apologize to you. I feel as if I didn’t read enough of your poems during April; you are a morning writer and I tend to be afternoon, and sometimes these are two ships passing one another by. I always enjoy your words and insight! This poem, I am smitten by “my mother clutched me
carried me like a football”
I can visualize this so well! The haste, and the loving care, desire to protect you.
It’s been a wonderful April!
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Maureen, I am just seeing your comment this morning – thank you SO much for your reading and your encouragement. I appreciate you so much. Friend, I am the one owing an apology. I needed to read a lot more than I did during April in the VerseLove evenings. You know me well – I’m an early bird, and I need to figure out a better way to get back to the evening writers and our Pacific Coast friends. I agree – – April was wonderful, and I’m already missing the daily prompts and writing and reading the gifts of poetry!
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Kim,
Holy sh*t! What a story. What a kitchen story. What a first time memory. That poor girl was lucky she made it to your house, and thinking about her nakedness echoes the Genesis story when Eve becomes aware of her nakedness. I’m also wondering g why she was naked. What her stepfather was trying to do to her when she ran. You tell just enough to keep us guessing.
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Thank you, Glenda! I still have so many vivid memories of events in that town and the house we lived in. Ironically, I live just under an hour away from there now. It’s interesting how the twists and turns of life come full speed (no pun intended). I always appreciate your kind comments.
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