Was the one when we moved to the Lane’s
estate just after we had left our sister
in a far-away place for the retarded.
Mrs. Lane, devout Catholic, consoled our mother –
a respite for us from the wails and fights
of the past months as Mom, with bowed head,
fingered her new rosary and whispered
Hail Marys for the forgiveness found
in Christ’s sacrifice of blood and flesh
while we were free to roam
with whey-faced Nelson. He (later
became a priest) led us one day
to a thick copse of evergreens
hiding a rock-ringed pond. We dropped
our panties to meet his dare inciting us
to jump in and splash him. Enraged
he caught a frog in each hand
and threw one after the other,
again and again, against a rock
till both had flattened
into moist tangled lumps of skin,
eyes and mossy blood, reminding us
that Mom’s new fervor would not
bring back our sister or make us safe.
Originally from New York, Barbara Campbell has lived many years in Charlotte, NC. After a career in communications and publishing, she began to write poetry and has had poems published in Rattle, Kakalak, Pinesong, Charlotte Writers Club Anthology Journey Without, The Southern Poetry Anthology: North Carolina, The North Carolina Literary Review and Poet Lore. She is currently working on her first book of poetry.