Punishments

I remember most
being locked in the dark cellar,
the musty earth sealing around me,
the rustle of unseen creatures
in the monstrous corners,
my throat and fingers raw
from imploring the deaf door.
When we were older
the discipline was more direct,
always our images of him
the raised hand,
the freshly-cut switch,
the brutal belt.

That we learned to love him
is not, they tell us, surprising.
That we learned to understand
and to forgive
the tortured child in him
perhaps is.

- Leona Gom

From The Collected Poems of Leona Gom. So no Nis Press. Used by permission.