ALL RIGHT MY CHILD 1969.

Sophia's father bellowed,

he bellowed loudly,
Sophia's mother
crept from the room,
crept quickly,
Sophia large eyed
stared at him,
(it was about
the boy Benedict),
her father,
like some Italian
Mafia don, short,
stocky, walked around her,
if I found out that you
have slept with him,
her father bellowed,
nigdy, nigdy,
she said in Polish in reply,
never, never, she said again,
(pushing images of her
and Benedict having sex
in her bed from her head),
Sophia's father paused
behind her, his dark eyes
on her back, slim, curved,
her bottom caressed
by the tight dress,
you swear to me that
you have not had sex with him,
her father said, softer now,
but more menacing,
him unseen by her,
behind her, feeling
6 years old rather than 19,

perspiring, never would I

have sex before marriage,
she said, imagining herself
that moment a virgin princess,
untouched, pure as new snow,
her father walked to face her,
(she knowing one swing
of his hand would send her flying),
gazed into her eyes,
looking for falsehoods, for lies,
I am a virgin, she said,
closing her eyes, (images of her
and Benedict humping
on her bed still there in her head),
Sophia's father walked again,
muttered in his Polish tongue,
she opened her eyes , opened
her eyes wide and large like
pale blue gems,
her father turned and smiled,
his voice softer,
he is all right, Sophia,
he uttered, all right my child.