short story

When I Asked About My Father

E. R. Smith, 2018

On the day he knew I was conceived,

he ordered mom to be rid of me.

Mom said so, when I asked of him.

Hurt, burned, like a belt on wet skin.

Too true for a young mind.

Wondered on the crime,

of which adulterer wanted no evidence.

I guess his family was chosen,

I wasn’t invited.

Treachery formed a warrior,

for mother and self.

Thrice as good, driven.

Living evidence to my right, life.

Smothered my mother in accolades.

Assured her she chose well, me.

One sided destiny.  A survivor.

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