SECRET GAMES. (STRONG LANGUAGE)

Uncle Dofhol and his
Secret games. She now
Remembers them well,
Still feels the effects each
Time she looks and sees
His photograph in the
Family album, gazing
Over Mother’s shoulder
As she turns over pages.

Just a child then. Some
Days it seems yesterday,
Other times seems ages.

Mother stares at the page,
Brushes a finger, over
Uncle’s picture, smiles,
Lets the finger linger.

Secret games, Uncle
Whispered, our little
Secret, just between
You and me. Mother
Says, he favoured you,
Thought you the best.

She looks away, too
Much favoured, too
Much touched and
Too much fucked, she
Says within, her voice
Echoing down dark
Childhood chambers.

Remember that doll
Your uncle bought you?
Mother asks, not looking
Around, waiting reply.

Yes, she says. Remembers
It well and more besides:
The drawn curtains, dirty
Games, the whispered
Words, smells and hurts.

She and the rag doll his
Little girls and Mother
Unknowing, kisses the
Photograph and lets fall
A sigh and gentle laugh.

Mother turns the page
And moves on to other
Images, memories, and
Yesterday’s photos with
A running commentary.

There is Uncle Dofhol
Again, Mother says, see
How he holds your hand,
But how cross you looked
Back then and what a
Frown and silly gaze.

She says nothing now,
As she didn’t then, as
She remembers her long
Childhood nights and days.