The Baptist

The Baptist

(Matthew 14:8)

When Mother missed my dance recital,

she promised to make it up to me.

I could show my dance at the next party

she threw with my new Father. New Father would love it.

If I was very, very good, he might give me a present.

Some bracelets, or a party dress, maybe a pony,

because new Father was rich. Much richer than Daddy had been.

I spent weeks sewing prettier feathers on my costume,

making sure I had the steps just right.

Mother and her friends weren’t in the room,

and New Father and his friends were so large, and hairy, and sweaty.

When I was finished, new Father pulled me into his lap,

stroked my hair, and whispered I could have whatever I wanted.

I ran to Mother asking if I could ask for my pony.

She told me she needed me to ask for something special,

and if I could get it, she would get me two ponies, and a cart for them to pull.

The platter was so heavy, I could barely carry it.

I had to close my eyes, afraid of what was on top.

He had a long beard and his eyes were open. He looked so mad.

Mother told me it was made of wax. A joke for her friends.

She told me to go change and play outside.

Hanging up my costume, I thought I heard her crying.