How I Grew Sideways Into the Forest

"Dance to the sickle." My father expelled
Always at the harvest times
Broke open my back toiling in his fickle fields
Warm hugs of meals followed at a solid,
Well-rendered family oak, lined with benches
Mother and sisters, clustered smiling weary,
Cloying smiles back at the same confused faces

"Dance to the music!" My brother called
In between chugs of awful town beer
Old tastes of dad's were better but this
Night of forest lights, music from the turning
Static machine called the girls to wildly sit
On my knee and toss their laughs,
Their hair in my not oft trumpeted direction

We all danced in the beginning
When we got each other watching,
Playing, reading down unrighteous paths
We bricked it up and we went on daily
But the hellfire peeked itself through
To the accusations and drowned, soaking arguments
That bounced off of the early rebellion-filled walls

I danced wild the night of the purge
To the one record we would not stop spinning
Over and over that night - "Born to Run"
We refused to go home, took courageous trips
Through the woods for a brave new way
But, my brother was alone when my father raged through
Tore limbs and shot out with too much strength

We danced in the kitchen that night, unable
To mark or gouge the bitter wood floor
As my father humbly sang, "It was a terrible accident."
In front of so many white and blue officials
After he told me to, "Shut my damned mouth."
My knees gave out and I watched pieces
Of the Boss grab light in my brother's hair

"We'll dance to a new beat." My father decided
After the accident and the unemployment
Became an uncrossable, two ton void
There was such a sick warmth in early March
When he sold the car on an uneven, gravel road
So far away from a muted, comforting feeling
I had propositions to grow with