Father’s Beads.

Last night, i saw through the cracked walls- again-

“Father is grand
Father does all
Father knows all”

Father’s rosary reminds me of a cracked wall, made of mud
With so many holes that feel like a thousand eyes feasting on your soul
His lips move with no sound
They mumble “hail mother of grace, hail mother of grace”
They rub on each other like leaves blown by wind
Sometimes really fast,
Sometimes slow.
Father’s fingers look like sand paper
His thumb pressing over his favorite bead
Eyes closed.

“Father is grand
Father does all
Father knows all”

Opposite the crucifix, is father’s chair
With a hundred rosary beads hanging on each nail
Father picks one and sits
Father’s robe smells like iron rust
Sometimes I catch pinkish stains at it’s tops
His faint attempt at washing off blood.

Last night, I saw through the cracked walls.
Father strangling another girl
With his longest rosary
Perhaps, because she had a fat neck
Her blood dropped from his fingers
And his lips moves without sound - as always-

“Father is grand
Father does all
Father knows all”

Sometimes the adults come,
Wearing sober looks
They bow before father
And sit on the other side
Of a constructed wood box.
If only they could see
The blood stain on his hymn book.

The children chorus
“Father is grand
Father does all
Father knows all”

“Say it! Louder!”

“Father is grand
Father does all
Father knows all”

The cracked walls can’t save us
Father walks slowly
Through the straight line
He looks at me
With cold eyes
We both have blue eyes
Except mine his filled with fear,
And his with pleasure.
“Come with me” Father says
Perhaps, he will use the green rosary
It matches my skin tone

Father forgive me, it is my fault
“Mea culpa, mea culpa”

What seems Holy is not
Father is not grand
Father does nothing
Father knows nothing
Father’s beads kill
Father
Father
Fa...