Bringer of Light

My six-year-old body chained to the chair,
Vulture mother circles, dryly observes
Writhing energy that cannot convert
Into further discovery for now.
Dark juice stains my chin, evidence enough
To suggest: the neighbor’s blackberry bush
Will be found lacking forty berries.
Noting the unwaning zeal within me
Mother wheels away into the kitchen;
Silently I seek the nearest diversion:
Encyclopedias waiting to be plucked
And gleaned of all they have to offer.
My child hands inspect one textured cover,
Bumpy and red as the liver I smell
That mother prepares for father’s delight.
It is within those pages that I learn
Whether a snake is poisonous or not
Based on its markings; how to distinguish
An elm from an oak; anatomical
Differences between men and women.
Savior father comes home and looses me
Upon the condition that I behave,
But that first sip of knowledge leaves me dry:
Resolved to rekindle the fire I’ve found,
Tomorrow more berries will be sacrificed
To again receive the sentence, “The Chair!”