Raised in a fist
misnamed “family.”
Open wound holidays.
Silent scar dinners.
At first sign of having grown up
enough, was thrown
like a party into
full war footing.
Precision became
a refuge — exact words,
sure placement of blows
and slashes.
Raised a torch seeking
honesty, dropped a hint,
found haunts and safer
dangers to call home.
When asked about all this
there was never much said,
just a star-cut side-eye, a shrug
like a blue vein twitching.
If you kept asking questions
you got hurricanes and spider
invasions and hands, dirty hands,
raised in familiar fists,
heavy with ghosts
fighting to escape.
Dark Matter 
August 27th, 2015 at 5:34 am
BTW, sometimes the like button just isn’t what is needed…
August 27th, 2015 at 5:45 am
I understand. I frequently have that problem myself.
Thank you…
August 27th, 2015 at 5:33 am
Tony, at times it is as if you had been reading from my journal. Both a survivor and former Child Protections Officer and therapist, I know Joey and his many brothers and sisters. Their ghosts frequent my work.
August 27th, 2015 at 9:15 am
Hi, Lea. You really do understand this one of Tony’s inside out.
A curse and a blessing…………..Hope you are well.
August 27th, 2015 at 11:37 am
Eileen, you are right of course but I am also a survivor. Sadly many are not.
August 27th, 2015 at 2:22 am
Geemenee. How do you do it? Find so simple and use so few, but such revealing words. “Raised in a fist misnamed family.” “Heavy with ghosts fighting to escape.” Once again: Wow.