The Innisfree Poetry Journal www.innisfreepoetry.org by Patricia L. Hamilton
Bad Word
Red spots flaring on her copper cheeks,
raven-haired Rosa spat a single word into the playground dirt, raising a small puff of dust. It sounded like an arrow whooshing past to stick in a rough-barked tree trunk. After recess some pint-sized prosecutor charged Rosa before our frowning teacher and called me as a witness. Did I or did I not hear her say a bad word? I hardly knew. I tried to conjure its sound: a sigh with a fishhook on the end. Which part was bad? I weighed my choices: snitch or shrug? Rosa remained mute, smoke-black eyes giving nothing away. Years later I recognized the word, realized she was guilty. Did her escape from the fierce tether-ball slap of schoolyard justice tame her tongue? Or did she take up target practice, arrow-straight epithets hitting every mark, final consonants pinning their victims with the precision of a knife-thrower? Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication |