Animal Skin

My father’s voice is raised

‘One more sound,’ he warns  

‘Just. One. More.’                                                                              

My brother’s feet

poise, strike          

in childish spite.           

I made

one more noise.           

My father’s hands are strong.

He splits wood,

chops moose meat.       

When he holds a leather strap

that looms over my back               

it slices deep.                            

Again. Again. Again.       

His story.

My skin.

By Jennifer Phillips