Isaura Ren
half-measure
CW: homophobia, child abuse
My father played the flute
when he was young. He never
was any good—at the flute, that is.
Too hesitant. His tiny freckled fingers
never pressed quite hard enough. Baseballs,
under his command, crashed wildly into the dirt.
Kids can be cruel, he muttered through a cigarette, as if
I wouldn’t know. They called me queer, but I showed them.
He made it four months in the Army, forty years in blue.
Decades grew on him like calluses. He ironed his grip,
willed away flinches, passed them down to me.
Yet when he wrapped those hardened hands
around my woodwind throat—just
then, for a second, he faltered.
My father played the flute
when he was young. He never
was any good—at the flute, that is.
Too hesitant. His tiny freckled fingers
never pressed quite hard enough. Baseballs,
under his command, crashed wildly into the dirt.
Kids can be cruel, he muttered through a cigarette, as if
I wouldn’t know. They called me queer, but I showed them.
He made it four months in the Army, forty years in blue.
Decades grew on him like calluses. He ironed his grip,
willed away flinches, passed them down to me.
Yet when he wrapped those hardened hands
around my woodwind throat—just
then, for a second, he faltered.
Commentary
Isaura on "half-measure":
"half-measure" is a reflection on my early relationship with my father. The events in this poem took place when I was in grade school, maybe seven or eight years old. As you'll notice, this piece centers around my father's background, not my own. As this man raised me, he had to grapple with his own childhood insecurities and trauma, the effects of which he took out on his own child. This perpetuated a toxic cycle of abuse. I gave this information about his early life not to excuse his actions, but to contextualize them, to make plain the ripple effect of trauma in one's formative years. Adulthood has given me perspective and empathy toward his pain. Understanding is greater than forgiveness. By becoming aware of this cycle, I can and will end it.
"half-measure" is a reflection on my early relationship with my father. The events in this poem took place when I was in grade school, maybe seven or eight years old. As you'll notice, this piece centers around my father's background, not my own. As this man raised me, he had to grapple with his own childhood insecurities and trauma, the effects of which he took out on his own child. This perpetuated a toxic cycle of abuse. I gave this information about his early life not to excuse his actions, but to contextualize them, to make plain the ripple effect of trauma in one's formative years. Adulthood has given me perspective and empathy toward his pain. Understanding is greater than forgiveness. By becoming aware of this cycle, I can and will end it.
Biography
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Isaura Ren is a queer poet, editor, and stargazer from Northern California. She's the editor-in-chief of perhappened mag, an online lit journal. When she's not busy reading other people's words, she dabbles in writing her own. Find her Twitter at @isaurarenwrites and portfolio at isauraren.tumblr.com.
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