Brown Sweater

There was a brown turtleneck sweater

And a pair of black stirrup ski pants that hung

In my mother’s closet.

The turtleneck was dirt brown with ribbing

It was quite pretty and soft

It should have been a joy to wear

The pants were the type so popular

In the late 60’s and 70’s

Dark and thick double-knit fabric

With a seam running up and down the front of the leg

Perfect for a day in the snow

Or an afternoon of skiing or sledding

This outfit was always ready for me to

Wear the mornings after my mother lost her mind with rage

And after the nights when she would pull me out of bed and start

Beating on me with whatever was handy

Ping Pong paddles

Brushes

Wooden spoons

Fly swatters

And sometimes, she would instigate my father to whip out his belt

And join in.

I never remember what prompted the punishments

Or what roused the fury

I just lived in fear of them

Afraid to fall asleep

But eventually after it was over

I would collapse in exhaustion and pain

In the morning, I would find the

Sweater and pants folded neatly on my bed

After these attacks

Because as my mother told me

“You have to hide the bruises and marks…

“You don’t want people to know how bad of a child you are

And that we have to beat you like this.”

So, no matter how hot it was outside in the New Mexico heat

I wore hot winter clothes that normal people wore to ski in

To hide my shame for being such a bad little girl

That I needed to be whipped, hit, degraded and beaten.

I was ten years old.

50 years later.

And I have kept that sweater and pants to remind me

How much hate was hidden behind the pristine doors

Of my so-called idyllic existence

In the house that was painted as picture perfect

Don’t tell me to get over it

I will happily show you the fucking scars

That remind me of the truth I lived

- Julie O'Hara

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