Transcripts that Should’ve Been Filed with ‘Repressed’
1997-2002:
[No memories]
late 2003, one hour south of Switzerland:
Dad smashed my Gameboy.
He told me the screen looked better as a sunset.
I’m only seven, but
I’d like to throw him
from our balcony to the pavement.
Then I would hold up the pieces and say “look at all that red.
Pretty, isn’t it?”
I have to go press a bite mark
into my big brother’s arm
and strangle my pillow into unconsciousness.
I’m afraid to slam doors.
When I sob, it’s because I’m ‘tired’.
This is what he tells mom.
2004:
Kids at school taught me the phrase vaffanculo.
I traded them with “fuck you”.
When I get excitable, dad thinks I’m losing control
if I hear him bellow “basta così!”
I protect my head and ass
from a boot or backhand or wooden spoon.
I’m forced to spend hours with
my nose in the corner of a wall.
I said that doesn’t tickle. I hate you Mr. Claw.
I’m only seven but
I no longer cry every day.
I stare.
My silence is a white flag.
When I wear a mask I’m not punished.