Learning to Be Quiet
Fenced in dogs were always barking
in the cold, no dog houses
just freezing in the snow.
My grandfather’s dogs
neglected as my grandmother.
Age 4, I saw Pop park his truck
and drink a pint of whiskey.
I heard plenty of talk from the relatives.
I didn’t know what it did but I knew what it was.
Wind whistling through the “holler”
would freeze the stream down the hill
where the cold box in the water
held more whiskey.
I stayed close to the house
My brother disappeared in the woods for hours
while maw-maw secretly sewed
for pocket money Pop withheld
while forbidding her to work.
Still pre-school, I played outside
with a stack of black cylinders.
Maw maw found out and had Pop
“Remove the dynamite” from the front yard.
Pop was an alcoholic carpenter
missing one finger
with insane, frequent temper.
There was always a pressure to “be good”
which meant to “be quiet.”
To speak up usually meant trouble.
I learned to keep my head down
like a prisoner.
Belinda Subraman, Texas Beat Poet Laureate 2023-2025, has been active as a poet and editor for decades and has published in100s of magazines in print and online. Her latest book is Full Moon Midnight from Roadside Press. She enjoys collaborating with other poets and artists and has published many of these collaborations on her YouTube channel. She also interviews Beat Poet Laureates for the BeatLife channel. In addition, she is an artist, painting with alcohol inks, acrylics and mixed media.
