Andrew K. Clark
Origin Story
When mama caught me
up on my knees
painting my face
with her makeup,
making the eye
shadow curve
along her boy’s
cheekbones unnatural,
sugar smell of
powder on my fingers –
I saw her reflection,
in the mirror,
churning,
remembering
the slap the day I tried on
her long red boots, my
heel pressed in deep,
the way I twirled the room,
delighted in the way they
click click clicked
on the floor before
she made me taste
blood and see stars
inside my head.
The way mama sat on top
of me, pushing the leather
into my mouth. Mama
said she’d tell my daddy
when he called, mama
swinging her belt, mama
find her a switch. Mama
said she’d make me wear
them high-up heels
to school, said I could
leave my cleats at home,
wear girl heels on
the baseball diamond.
Oh mama so red,
mama reaching, raging
mama come rushing
in, so
I grabbed up the lipstick,
smeared it across my
face in a frown,
used the pencil
to draw on crazy
eyebrows, said:
Mama, behold!
Your son, the clown!
