Hunting Season Is Permanently Closed

I WAS ABUSED BY MY MOTHER AND HER BOYFRIEND AT THE AGE OF THIRTEEN, THIS POEM REFLECTS THOSE HARDEST MOMENTS FOR ME. THEY RAN OFF TO ALASKA WITH FIVE OF MY SIBLINGS WHEN I TOLD MY GRANDMOTHER WHAT THEY HAD DONE. She never had a tender ear, she let me know she didn't care. Always mean she pulled my hair, no other mother could compare. I once remember, but only once, she held my hand with tender love. I must have been all of nine, the only good memory in my mind. The man who crept into her life, who she protected with all her might. A young doe was what he wanted, like a deer I was hunted. When he bagged what he'd sought, out west is where he took the lot. The coward ran from prosecution, Alaska administered his absolution. My mother never penalized, the man who caused my spirit to die. I forgave her for their horrific sins, I wasn't going to let them win. Today I finally realized, I'm the one who won first prize.