Repressed Memories
Molly Conway
Greatgrandmother’s Mulligan recipe
cooks in a large pot
simmering on low
tomato water splatters the stove
scents of beef and cabbage drift out
Zek, dark grey silky hair
curled on the middle cushion
of the blue-grey squishy sofa
his head buried, ears alert
indulges in a short nap
thunder rumbling somewhere distant
lighting crackling, rain tinkling
the cassette plays on
Lulling me in my easy chair
Slippers, sweats, cozy, soft
I dreamed about a young man
blonde, muscular, slender
with a vagina instead of the usual
he stood naked, shock still
surgical instruments hanging from inside him
One day in my therapist’s cushioned office
I suddenly saw a white room
with a silver colored stool
and a silver colored tray
covered by a white cloth and surgical equipment
Then it was gone
shoved back down in the dark depths
of my mind
by automatic action
without my being aware of doing it
The child, sweetly scented by innocence
lives in two worlds
split from reality
one a concentration camp
the other an invasion of young flesh
Years of childhood
taken with the memories
blanks instead of laughter
riding a bicycle with the gang on Mine Hill
void of yellow dandelions and white daisies
the intruder
breathing heavily
an evil gleam in his eye
has complete power
threatening beatings
don’t ever tell
seven years of torture
locked in a sick family
Mother stood by ironing
taunting, mocking
“you’re weird!” she’d say
pictures of my granchildren
sit on the ebony piano
next to Mary with her lamb
no mouth to speak from
a gift from Mother
there’s today and there’s then
I embrace today
but when it’s dark and I’m weary
heaviness pulls me down hard
my world becomes ugliness and brutality
I lay down heavily
paying the price
suffering the misconceptions
of those who think they know
a searing feeling in my heart
and rest.
