The Small of Her Back

When the harridan’s mother told her she would never walk straight but only in crooked lines zigzagging like a drunken sailor, she bust a dam of sad childish tears. ‘…you got the scoliosis…’ her mother said mockingly. ‘…you will never be a proper girl...’. A sweaty man with callused hands made her a bridle out of horse livery, ‘there aren’t nothing wrong about a little girl like you wearing a horse’s dress’ he said, his hands gabling the small of her back. ‘…hold on here, that’s it, make a rabbit hole with your thumb and finger, now you got it, that a girl’. The bridle cut into her shoulders and left red welts on her back. ‘…that’ll make you proper’ her mother said, ‘…not proper, proper, but close enough’. The harridan’s sister came into the world like a drywall fitter spackling her mother’s hole, her back straight as a shovel-handle