Marnie Clark<\/p>\n
1.<\/p>\n
Every time he got to me, every time he lay on me,
\nI wore a path to a thistle-choked ravine.<\/p>\n
Past the garden, past father\u2019s grave,
\nwhen step-father got his hands up my skirt,<\/p>\n
prodded into me\u2014Marnie, my darling, my dove<\/em>\u2014 I\u2019d stare across the ravine\u2014blue hills like frozen waves. 2.<\/p>\n He was awfully quiet; how Mother knew I couldn\u2019t say. I slid off an old bench, yanked my dress into place. Mother ranted at my gaunt figure when I couldn\u2019t eat, I paced my room at night, always a book in hand, Her face soft, my little sister Helen 3.<\/p>\n Mother gave me pills to start my monthlies, Helen asked why her daddy slept down with the spiders; 4.<\/p>\n I was sent to work at an all-woman\u2019s hotel, west of us in Seattle, I found amusement in foreign travelers\u2019 voices, even a tinge of contentment in polishing mahogany furniture, The mist off Elliot Bay washed my mind. Mt Rainer\u2019s white peak fog leaned against the heavy green of the cedar trees, 5.<\/p>\n I counted how many rooms I\u2019d clean before Helen could be safe, I turned calendar pages, the days adding up so slowly. 6.<\/p>\n Another maid showed me the new Hillside Brothel heard the man\u2019s moans, the short time he was in and out, At first I spent the extra on a white silk wrap, Later, I found my way into gambling parties, lost 7.<\/p>\n Mother wrote: Helen moved away for a bit,<\/em> Making beds by day, lying on them all night, The dark over the city, the dark over the ocean\u2014 <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Kim Loomis-Bennett<\/a> is a life-long resident of Washington State, besides a detour into Oregon where she met her husband. Her poems and book reviews have appeared in The November 3rd Club<\/em>, The Copperfield Review<\/em>, Poet\u2019s Quarterly<\/em>, and Hippocampus Magazine<\/em>.<\/a> Her most recent work is included in The Prose-Poem Project<\/em>.<\/a>\u00a0 She teaches at Centralia College. She has an MA in Creative Writing from Wilkes University and will graduate with her MFA, January 2014. She lives in Lewis County with her family. Her work, Soiled Doves: A Poetic Sequence<\/em>,<\/a> published in 2011, is available as an ebook.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Marnie Clark 1. Every time he got to me, every time he lay on me, I wore a path to a thistle-choked ravine. Past the garden, past father\u2019s grave, when step-father got his hands up my skirt, prodded into me\u2014Marnie, … Continue reading
\nhis calluses against my raw thighs, my neck when I struggled.<\/p>\n
\nA stern breeze scrubbed his stench from my skin.<\/p>\n
\nAfter he left, I saw her sharp face peering in the shed window.<\/p>\n
\nShe stared in like I was a stranger\u2014I stared back.<\/p>\n
\nlost my job at Hoyt\u2019s caf\u00e9\u2014mostly she missed my pay.<\/p>\n
\nalways a lantern glowing low, softly reading Bible lore.<\/p>\n
\nhugged her ragdoll, lulled to sleep by my footfall.<\/p>\n
\nbanished her husband to a cellar room\u2014Marnie, my dove.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nI said they caught his bad ideas, wrapped them in webs.<\/p>\n
\nrode the train out, ready for liberty, even if only as a Lincoln Hotel maid.<\/p>\n
\nodd curios in waterfront shops, the long shadows of tall buildings,<\/p>\n
\nmaking up brass beds with horsehair mattresses.<\/p>\n
\noversaw my dreams. Outside my window in the worker\u2019s quarters,<\/p>\n
\nmellowed wagon and car traffic, held the slight light of the lilacs.<\/p>\n
\ncounted on getting a little house\u2014away from him.<\/p>\n
\nPoured my savings onto my bed, the money measly in my hands.<\/p>\n
\non Tenth Avenue South\u2014I listened in the hall,<\/p>\n
\nsaw the cash, knew I could do that.<\/p>\n
\nrouges, perfumes and creams, trinkets and toys for Helen.<\/p>\n
\ntrack of my Hillside wages, worked extra to make it back.<\/p>\n
\n I threw away the coat you sent. Stay away.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nthe counted-on money never amounted to much.<\/p>\n
\nmy hopes tangled up in linen.<\/p>\n