by William Fargason
I don’t say his temper was a sun
flare his belt across my back
I don’t say his word ever the last
sound each afternoon through
the hallways I don’t say muscadine
say buckeye say serrated say
the woods the only place I felt safe
I don’t say my shirt ripped down the back
like a sheet of paper don’t say I knew
one day he would kill me or I would have to
kill him don’t say a word as I tremble
next to my bed I don’t say my prayers
to the god of that cold house I don’t
say anything back I get up off my knees
William Fargason is the author of Love Song to the Demon-Possessed Pigs of Gadara (University of Iowa Press, April 2020), winner of the 2019 Iowa Poetry Prize. His poetry has appeared in The Threepenny Review, Prairie Schooner, New England Review, Barrow Street, Indiana Review, Rattle, The Cincinnati Review, Narrative, and elsewhere. He received two awards from the Academy of American Poets, a scholarship to Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, and a 2018-2019 Kingsbury Fellowship. He earned a BA in English from Auburn University, an MFA in poetry from the University of Maryland, and a PhD in poetry from Florida State University, where he taught creative writing. He is the Poetry Editor of Split Lip. He lives with himself in Tallahassee, Florida.