Autobiography

I was born one summer’s day in the ruins of defeat.

My father was a soldier
My mother was afraid.

My father’s father praised The Lord
And beat the children.

My mother’s father denied The Lord
And loved the children.

I was born in the ruins of defeat.

Black nuns taught me the meaning of life.
Black priests taught me the wages of sin.

I was born in the ruins of defeat.

The day the circus came to town
Elephants and lions danced.
Whips cracked.
Round and round the horses rode,
The knife thrower’s knives were sharp and shiny,
They always found their target.

The circus left, the animals went,
The knife thrower sheathed his knives.

The day my circus came to town
I danced and danced and danced.
Whips cracked.
Round and round the knife thrower rode me,
His knives where sharp and shiny.
He always found his target.

Pinned to the target
I danced and danced in a whirl of black shadows,
Sharp shining knives, whips, fear and despair,
Faster and faster,
In an endless circle,
And the knife thrower threw his knives.

I awoke, the dance ended.
I sheathed the knife thrower’s knives.

And rose from the ruins of defeat.