Don’t Call Him Her Father
There is a small, young girl in the arms
of an oak tree. Knees to her chest,
face in her hands, hair shorter
than she could ever remember.
He cut it all off, any chance they had
at lap cuddles and book cradles.
The first time he held her hand
was only to break her arm.
He tries to cut her down
with ax after ax of obstacles,
not knowing her oak.
She, only her own:
year after year, ring around ring,
only growing stronger,
higher than he could ever imagine,
higher than he ever could.
She attends his funeral because,
while he called her “good for nothing,”
she is nothing but good. She pays
respects he never earned.
So do me a favor:
don’t call him her father.
Call him by the name he infamed:
Psychopath.
Pass me the rusty ax.
I’ll carve it into his tombstone.
- By Abby Seber
“My good friend Linda and I met in a writing group in 2018. When I joined, the group was in the middle of reviewing Linda’s memoir. Linda provided the earlier chapters for me to catch up. I was immediately gripped and shocked by the story of her abusive father. There were very few poets in the group, but I kept coming back because I wanted to read more of Linda’s story. Her bravery and perseverance throughout her childhood is truly inspiring. On top of that, the memoir sheds light on a difficult topic that is in need of attention: child abuse. Coming from a healthy home myself, I was not aware of how monstrous some psychopaths could be toward their own children. Now, if I were ever to see a child with questionable physical or mental signs of abuse, I would be more likely to recognize them as such. Linda’s memoir has invoked an awareness that I will carry with me for life.”