My Orphan
An orphan and his sister came from Cincinnati
He was a mystery, a simple mystery from Ohio
In a simple blue and white sailor suit with one
White leg one white normal leg that came out
Of his little blue and white sailor suit and one
Blackish leg that came out of his sailor suit
My orphan had blood poisoning that turned
His whole leg blackish bluish reddish and in
The little blue and white sailor suit black and
White photo his leg was blackish it was simple
That is what was wrong with him.
Poisoned blood. It was not that he was abused
Or that he joined the United States Army when
After lying to join at sixteen he was shipped off
To Korea and killed and experienced horrors
It was not that my orphan was then brought
Stateside and put briefly into a veteran’s mental
Hospital or that perhaps my veteran married a
Women who had not yet gotten over the loss of
A child and the subsequent resulting divorce thereafter
My orphan had poisoned blood. He was not left
Not abandoned as some might imagine. His sister
Was not so unwell. She was not incapable
She was not infected with that which he clearly was
She clearly did not have eight children, six
Having lived and she, as he did not do things to them
My orphan prospered at his craft he was a skilled
Well loved well respected pipe fitter superintendent
his poisoning flared up almost always on Friday
evening and the spells seemed to last about three days
Modern medicine suggest perhaps alcohol but I am
Certain it was blood poisoning from his youth
My orphan would have fits of dementia and beat
His children, forget that they were children and
Sometimes force himself on them. Of course
His poor wife was just so overcome with caring for her
Other five children and worried about the nature of
Rumor, community, propriety, jobs and such that
She did the best she could with what she had
A no good father is better than no father at all
She was overheard telling the second oldest girl once.
She was after all protecting my orphan, from the world
He did after all have the blood poisoning.
I saw it that one time in the photograph
The orphan beat one of his sons with an
Axe handle and kicked his girl down a flight
Of stairs he did so much damage to her kidneys
She missed most of her sophomore year at school
Here in your community my orphan lived, worked
His children were your friends, they are now, here
When I was a toddler I hadn’t seen that photo
Of the blackened legged boy in a little sailor suit
I had seen pictures of other little children in
Equally cute outfits in black and white photos
With bright shinning smiles, freckles and pressed
Clothes, usually matching three boys three girls
Gleaming out at me from Pine Street or Marion
Avenue in this town where you all should have
Known and some of you did, doctors, coaches
When I was a toddler I didn’t know about
Blood poisoning I knew about azaleas rotting
And screened windows and stenches in my nose
Thinking about anything I could think about
But what was happening to me, smelling things
Concentrating intently on patterns in fabric or
Trying to disappear, praying and not getting
Answered by a God you couldn’t understand
At six years old and being mad and scared
Personally I hated what was happening to me
I hated the monster that ruined me and infected
Me with the poison though then I did not have
The name for the disease I felt in myself
Mama called it Blackness and Hatred said
Forgiveness was the only was to rid myself of it
I had told on her father for continually molesting me
When at six I was caught stealing plastic blow up
Barbie doll furniture, the stress overtook me
He was banished to another state not to return
For ten years then forced on me again by his children’s
Want for their aging, ailing father I conceded and let
My orphan, long away back into our lives
Holding him in my mind at knifepoint arms length away
After that I saw the orphan photo and in my mind
My grandfather became clearer to me – all the horror stories
Made more sense because he made more sense in a catastrophic
Regularly scheduled catastrophe way he was by all accounts
A very wonderful father husband boss friend during the week
And almost most of the time in public on the weekends but
Add alcohol and or any amount of stress or disagreement or
Argument from the ranks instant sum bitch
My orphan could not tolerate stress,
being told he was wrong
Or any loss of face
I only wonder why he never killed himself.
I wonder too, why then some of his children
Didn’t do it either.
Kimberly Lenora Brown Stansfield
An orphan and his sister came from Cincinnati
He was a mystery, a simple mystery from Ohio
In a simple blue and white sailor suit with one
White leg one white normal leg that came out
Of his little blue and white sailor suit and one
Blackish leg that came out of his sailor suit
My orphan had blood poisoning that turned
His whole leg blackish bluish reddish and in
The little blue and white sailor suit black and
White photo his leg was blackish it was simple
That is what was wrong with him.
Poisoned blood. It was not that he was abused
Or that he joined the United States Army when
After lying to join at sixteen he was shipped off
To Korea and killed and experienced horrors
It was not that my orphan was then brought
Stateside and put briefly into a veteran’s mental
Hospital or that perhaps my veteran married a
Women who had not yet gotten over the loss of
A child and the subsequent resulting divorce thereafter
My orphan had poisoned blood. He was not left
Not abandoned as some might imagine. His sister
Was not so unwell. She was not incapable
She was not infected with that which he clearly was
She clearly did not have eight children, six
Having lived and she, as he did not do things to them
My orphan prospered at his craft he was a skilled
Well loved well respected pipe fitter superintendent
his poisoning flared up almost always on Friday
evening and the spells seemed to last about three days
Modern medicine suggest perhaps alcohol but I am
Certain it was blood poisoning from his youth
My orphan would have fits of dementia and beat
His children, forget that they were children and
Sometimes force himself on them. Of course
His poor wife was just so overcome with caring for her
Other five children and worried about the nature of
Rumor, community, propriety, jobs and such that
She did the best she could with what she had
A no good father is better than no father at all
She was overheard telling the second oldest girl once.
She was after all protecting my orphan, from the world
He did after all have the blood poisoning.
I saw it that one time in the photograph
The orphan beat one of his sons with an
Axe handle and kicked his girl down a flight
Of stairs he did so much damage to her kidneys
She missed most of her sophomore year at school
Here in your community my orphan lived, worked
His children were your friends, they are now, here
When I was a toddler I hadn’t seen that photo
Of the blackened legged boy in a little sailor suit
I had seen pictures of other little children in
Equally cute outfits in black and white photos
With bright shinning smiles, freckles and pressed
Clothes, usually matching three boys three girls
Gleaming out at me from Pine Street or Marion
Avenue in this town where you all should have
Known and some of you did, doctors, coaches
When I was a toddler I didn’t know about
Blood poisoning I knew about azaleas rotting
And screened windows and stenches in my nose
Thinking about anything I could think about
But what was happening to me, smelling things
Concentrating intently on patterns in fabric or
Trying to disappear, praying and not getting
Answered by a God you couldn’t understand
At six years old and being mad and scared
Personally I hated what was happening to me
I hated the monster that ruined me and infected
Me with the poison though then I did not have
The name for the disease I felt in myself
Mama called it Blackness and Hatred said
Forgiveness was the only was to rid myself of it
I had told on her father for continually molesting me
When at six I was caught stealing plastic blow up
Barbie doll furniture, the stress overtook me
He was banished to another state not to return
For ten years then forced on me again by his children’s
Want for their aging, ailing father I conceded and let
My orphan, long away back into our lives
Holding him in my mind at knifepoint arms length away
After that I saw the orphan photo and in my mind
My grandfather became clearer to me – all the horror stories
Made more sense because he made more sense in a catastrophic
Regularly scheduled catastrophe way he was by all accounts
A very wonderful father husband boss friend during the week
And almost most of the time in public on the weekends but
Add alcohol and or any amount of stress or disagreement or
Argument from the ranks instant sum bitch
My orphan could not tolerate stress,
being told he was wrong
Or any loss of face
I only wonder why he never killed himself.
I wonder too, why then some of his children
Didn’t do it either.
Kimberly Lenora Brown Stansfield
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