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never, ever, ever

We never talked about it;
never, ever, ever.
One or two times a week
I heard the door open, and he came.
Always Marcie, never me.
Strange, how sometimes I
could sleep through a thunderstorm,
but the sound of the door opening in the night
always woke me up.
Marcie would sometimes softly moan,
(just an exhalation of pain, soft as thunder)
and daddy would go to her bed.
Most times he pulled back the covers
and just got in.
After he left, Marcie and I would usually cry,
but we never talked about it;
never, ever, ever.
He never said much. . .
Mostly, I think to preserve the illusion
that this was not really happening.
There were noises,
and once in a while daddy told Marcie
“Turn over.”
Once, after a time like that,
I found where Marcie had bitten a hole
all the way through the pillow case.
I think because it hurt.
But we never talked about it;
never, ever, ever,
so I am just going by the sounds she made
(and, of course, the hole in the pillow case).

One time a snake slithered right into our living room.
It’s amazing, but everyone noticed that really really horrible thing
as soon as we saw it, and we
talked about it for years afterward.
The other thing went on for years,
and I think mom knew,
but we never talked about it;
never, ever, ever.

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