Tag Archives: child abuse

My Father, the Mountain // post five.

My Father, the Carpenter, and I am Not a Tree.

I have spent my life apologizing

For having seasons of growth

and of dormancy

I never have time to become woody, I am too ever-changing.

Maybe if I were not something that required eternal metamorphosis,

My father would have looked at me.

He views my ability to adapt

As an instability

A grievous inconsistency

Maybe if I were able to be still long enough to become woody,

Then he would find beauty in me,

In my ruggedness

And my strength

Instead of being this stringy creature

That climbs and vines

And dies back to roots

During internal wintertimes

I sway easily in the wind,

It moves me around!

And I tremble and shake

Wishing for the ground

But then, I’m there

Beneath the soil

And only want the sun

Maybe, if I were tall

And cast shadows long

He’d believe I had a spine

He’d believe I could be strong

But I am just a simple vine

That flowers in the sun

I’m glad, because if I were a tree

Strong, tall, and proud,

He’d surely chop me down.

written January, 2025

This collection of blog posts will include poetry, retellings, introspection, and train-of-thought additions until I decide I have got it all out and can breathe. I recently published a poetry book which coincides — My Father, the Mountain — and you can find more information and follow the blog at http://www.faunalewiswrites.com

My Father, the Mountain // post four.

from my poetry book, My Father, the Mountain

When I was suicidal a few years ago, my father called my husband.

“Take her somewhere that makes her smile.”

“Get her a surprise.”

“Take her to places that feed her soul.”

“Don’t do what I did.”

“Don’t put her in a closet and close the door.”

That’s what he did to my mother.

When I was depressed as a child, he tried to beat it out of me.

To hit it out.

Ignore it.

Scream it.

The first time I tried to kill myself, I was 8 years old.

8.

I look at my children now, the oldest of whom is two-decades, and they are still so precious and young and in need of me.

And I tried to check-out in second-grade.

“Take her somewhere that makes her smile.”

Fix the mistake I created.
Help her, because I couldn’t. Because I can’t.
Help her, because I was incapable. Because I am incapable.

A desperate plea from a father for his child?

A desperate plea so a father can avoid his child?

I am always someone-else’s job.

I wonder if there will ever come a day when I’m not.

written 6/11/2025

This collection of blog posts will include poetry, retellings, introspection, and train-of-thought additions until I decide I have got it all out and can breathe. I recently published a poetry book that coincides — My Father, the Mountain — and you can find more information and follow the blog at http://www.faunalewiswrite.com