An Excerpt by Gabrielle A. Gonzalez

Excerpted from The Cotton Picker's Daughter

Dried and dried.
It’s still there, the whole thing.
Sowed and harvested, and its not fair.
Be careful.
Many times Mom’s shot a bullet.
Hot,
into the air.
Not caring where it would land,
not even through me,
the prize at hand.
The reason she lives.
The security that shows she can move on.
But damn, damn.
Nothing further for her
because bare feet are bad.
You can only travel so far,
when trudging on glass.
My Mother has never gotten over,
what her Father did to her.
Everything physical
and verbal
is bubbling over
the facts and disappointments
are more clearer and
more hurtful than ever.
I could be a Romantic,
and blame it on Mexican Rhapsody.
Say
“ I hate you Granddaddy.”
Even though I never knew him.
That’s no justification.
Mother needs to know-
that real revenge is living long, happy.
Saying her I do’s and
“ Goodbye Daddy.”

{From The Cotton Picker's Daughter by Gabrielle A. Gonzalez}