There Was Blood On Our Food
Posted: Friday, November 28, 2008
by Tex Norman
I was taking a little girl, 7 years old, to the doctor. She was in Foster Care and I was a Child Welfare case manager. As we visited, this little girl revealed the incident that caused her to be removed from her home and placed into the custody of the state. I wrote it up as a poem. I followed the fixed form of the Pantoum. The second and forth lines in each stanza are repeated in the next stanza as the first and third lines.
The social worker interviewed the victim child.
Domestic violence is too tame a term.
"I saw my mama stick a knife in daddy.
There was blood on our food."
Domestic violence is too tame a term.
Her short life's been too long a life of fear.
"There was blood on my food.
Mama took a big knife from the kitchen drawer."
Her short life's been too long a life of fear.
And Fear is not relieved by Foster Care.
"My mama took a big knife from the drawer.
I don't know why my mama gets so mad."
And Fear is not relieved by Foster Care.
"I saw my mama stick a knife in daddy.
I don't know why my mama gets so mad."
I gently interviewed this victim child.
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