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.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: