by Dorothy Mack

I was the pretty duckling.
And look what it got me! My
mother's jealous beatings, her
hands on my pinafore ties
dragged me down.

I hid in cattails outside,
wet and cold until nightfall,
clutching my mewing kitten
close till her warm loud purr
calmed me down.

Then I followed my father
everywhere, in the orchard,
in the dark barn, till his arm
pushed my chest, whiskey whiskers
pressed me down.

I take deep breaths,
submerge, swim far
underwater,
eat bottomweeds,
my childhood drowned.

Like the ugly duckling,
grew webfeet, rose for air;
like the ugly duckling,
it's water off my back.