Things My Father Doesn’t Know About Me By Nettie Farris

Palm Trees. Bougainvillea. Evergreens. Pasadena is a long way from Kansas. This isn’t Wichita, I still tell myself. Sometimes I get the sense that I’m looking down at myself from above, as if I’m leaning out a high window, observing the pedestrians below. I’m Miss Davis, Merle Davis, Mrs. Murdock’s secretary. I wear my hair in a tight little bun. I don’t like it when men leer at me, especially when the man is my boss. I knew Mr. Marlowe would know what to do. I’m not afraid of him. He sits on the edge of the bed and holds my hand. His pajamas are soft and smell like mint. The sleeves are rolled up several times; yet, still, they cover my wrists. My tortoise-shell glasses rest on the table next to the bed. A loaded gun sits in my purse. There are things my father doesn’t know about me. I’ve killed a man. In fact, I’ve killed two.

© 2015 Nettie Farris

Nettie Farris lives in Floyds Knobs, Indiana and is the author of Communion (Accents Publishing, 2013). In 2011, she received the Kudzu Poetry Prize, and her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her chapbook, Fat Crayons, is forthcoming from Finishing Line press, 2015.  http://nettie.edublogs.org/

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