«Madder Than a Wet Hen» by Joni Caggiano
“I’ll wear the prettiest dress I have today. Maybe the boy behind me won’t draw on my ears with his pen. He hurts my feelings, and I wonder if the ugliness at home follows me around. Surely, he won’t tease me with my ballerina dress on.” I realize I am talking to myself again, but I am my own best friend. I want to pick my nose as it calms me, but I stop. It is but another dirty thing about me.
As sand spurs stick to my bare feet, releasing their poison, their sting follows me like pain between the ugly words my mom utters. I sense, without a doubt, that I am to be subjected to a form of torture that crawls behind a mask of love. This unwanted evil watches like the eyes of a water moccasin on the pond’s edge, waiting for me as I swim. I tiptoe fearfully down the stairs, and the aluminum chair awaits. Without a word, she tugs at my waist-length hair to form a ponytail. The force of the brush is so hard that my tiny head bleeds.
Mom was angry because I had already worn my ballerina dress this week. She works her fingers between my tender skin and the lace of my favorite dress. She pulls and tugs until I fall. Madder than a wet hen, she picks me up again and yanks until the dress rips, as my flesh stings and red drips from bloodless pores. I am a fledgling torn apart from an unseen enemy in the morning fog. Standing in a pile of lace and crinoline, I imagine I disappear like a fly swatted on the screen porch on a hot summer day. In my head, I am in the playground, spinning with skinny arms above my head like a ballerina.
My cotton slip is now wet from sobbing, and a sad sound hangs in the background like a sheet lost to the wind. I see pieces of my dress floating toward each other, flying like painful memories escaping her touch. Mom can even make my clothing die.
It was a bad day. I saw sorrow in the school playground. A poor girl was playing double-skip the rope when her worn-out panties fell off. Everyone but me was pointing and laughing, but I ran to her and held her. I cried, too. At five, I understood the meaning of the color blue.
*featured image, Pixabay photo by JillWellington.
Author’s Bio
Joni Karen Caggiano is a internationally published author, poet, and photographer. A 2022 Pushcart Nominee for, “Old New is Not Old News,” The Short of It Publishing, she has been recognized for several accomplishments. She just recently released her debut poetry book, “One Petal at a Time” by Prolific Pulse Press LLC.
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