Stories Told in Delight
Run, oh king without a kingdom.
I found my father’s grandmother
was driven out of a Parrel for love.
I was born in Parrel and the town
lives for me in myth. She betrayed her
first husband for a soon to be second.
The first found the second sharing
a bed with his wife. The shotgun
pointed but no shot was fired.
After he chased the second away,
he pleaded for answers and when
none satisfied, he threw out his wife
into the world. No children, so the paper
and the rumors were all that was needed
for the divide. Crossing the town
in the storm of delighted gossip
became too much to bear, the nails
of outrage of the ladies wearing
a dying Jesus around their necks
became the latest way of fighting
the tedious life a ranch town.
The new couple, disgraced by scandal,
and immortalized in romance
ran to the North for escape. The victim
of love also so left, cuckolded
and ashamed. No shotgun large
enough to cleanse his bed. My father’s
father returned from the land of fallen
women to the cousins, aunts and uncles
his mother left behind. The story remained.
Told in terms of novels, poems and
legend. The unfaithful wife in flight
for love. Another marriage and then
my father was born and given
the story of his grandmother’s passion
in schoolyards taunts, in kids play
and dreamy girlfriend’s questions.
He never trusted my mother.
After twelve years and three children,
I his youngest, and he ran for fear
of the runaway woman. He ran for want
of being sure, a servant to a story
a king with only tears. Why
did the story end with me?
I was forty when I heard it
from my sister that I never knew
I had. Stories needs us to be kept