Mommy says he will be my new Daddy and I’ll wear a pretty white dress. I will be the girl with the flowers. We will sing and dance because marriage is the beginning of a journey that must be celebrated or the Gods will be angry.

Maybe I didn’t do it right? The dancing, the singing, the celebrating.

My new Daddy is super smart! He knows how to catch a chicken and showed me the best way to slop the mean hog without getting hurt. He says I’m to get the eggs each morning, feed the hog and clean up after the dog before I go to school. I’m excited to show him that I’m a good girl and I deserve to have a Daddy too!

Maybe I didn’t do it right? I’ve never had a Daddy stick around before but my friends say they protect you from the monsters.

The Gods are angry. Maybe they didn’t like my singing? I won’t sing anymore, I promise. Something strange though, I think the floors are lined with egg shells? I can’t seem to walk without breaking one and upsetting my new Daddy. That’s when I know the Gods are angry because they take over his body, his usually kind face contorting in ways only monsters have mastered.

Maybe I didn’t do it right? I wore my slippers to protect the eggs and did all of my chores before school.

My new Daddy was drinking that smelly adult juice when I came home. He is super strong and made Mama’s favorite chair fly through the window. She cried while he screamed in my face about my worthless piece of shit father, I don’t think he meant himself. I’m pretty sure it was really the Gods telling me I’m worthless. I couldn’t stop the tears from coming but I made sure not to make a sound, it only angers the Gods more and I want to be a good girl.

Maybe I didn’t do it right? The rules keep changing.

I went on a plane! My old Daddy wanted to see me so I got to ride the plane and help the pilot, they even gave me gold wings and told me I could be a flight attendant one day because I am a really good girl. I didn’t get to visit long, my old Daddy says all little girls need to stay with their Mommy. He has lots of girlfriends and they loved my curly hair, freckles and green eyes. They told him how pretty I am. Maybe one of them can be my Mommy too? I didn’t tell old Daddy what new Daddy said about him.

Maybe I didn’t do it right? Old Daddy never called me like he said he would.

Mommy seems sad, I think the Gods are angry with her too. I’m getting really good at avoiding the egg shells, maybe I can teach her? The rules change faster than the big board of letters and numbers at the airport but I’m smarter than they know. I have new spidey senses and now I can tell when an egg is about to break.

Maybe I didn’t do it right? Mommy says there’s a new baby in her belly but they still want me.

I don’t think that babies know how to avoid egg shells. I’ve only been around a few but they seem pretty helpless to me. I think I’ll have to take the blame if she breaks any. I’ll be brave, I’m a good girl.

Maybe I didn’t do it right? The Gods are angry no matter how good I am.

Don’t ask questions, read those books, speak too loudly, look at me that way, forget your chores, anger your Father. Just. Don’t.

Maybe I did it right?

I found all of my clothes in trashbags on the snowy grass. The Gods used new Daddy to scream obscenities at me. I loaded the bags into my old car that I’d bought with my own hard earned money. The Gods called me selfish, ungrateful and worthless as I drove away, my bald tires spinning on the icy road.

I won the game after 14 years of tribute, my freedom at last. I lost my childhood and a tiny piece of my soul went missing, barely noticeable in the right light. Terrified and broken, I celebrated my Freedom Day by slipping on the special mask I’d been making to keep the Gods from finding me again. Bits of happiness painstakingly collected grain by grain, one for each year of sacrifice, held together with a paste of tears and dusty memories. My ticket to the world...

A year ago I placed third in the Feb. Poet's Playground contest run by a local magazine.

Our Outstanding Secret

In time of war restriction

the women complied,

their ration cards in pocket.

(Some women did hide.)

To raise a victory garden

was helpful indeed,

(while some were sworn to silence

so dire was the need).

To steel oneself to muteness

as “Calutron Girls”,

to monitor a harvest

illusive as pearls;

To race against malfeasance,

no less against time,

OUR women did their damnedest.

Their (dark) lights still shine.

One wouldn't have known I hadn't won or placed second, judging by the joy on my face! (These historical facts will hopefully continue to illuminate intriguing past sacrifices.)