1954 by Sharon Olds
Then dirt scared me, because of the dirt
he had put on her face. And her training bra
scared me—the newspapers, morning and evening,
kept saying it, training bra,
as if the cups of it had been calling
the breasts up—he buried her in it,
perhaps he had never bothered to take it
off. They found her underpants
in a garbage can. And I feared the word
eczema, like my acne and like
the X in the paper which marked her body,
as if he had killed her for not being flawless.
I feared his name, Burton Abbott,
the first name that was a last name,
as if he were not someone specific.
It was nothing one could learn from his face.
His face was dull and ordinary,
it took away what I’d thought I could count on
about evil. He looked thin and lonely,
it was horrifying, he looked almost humble.
I felt awe that dirt was so impersonal,
and pity for the training bra,
pity and terror of eczema.
And I could not sit on my mother’s electric
blanket anymore, I began to have a
fear of electricity—
the good people, the parents, were going to
fry him to death. This was what
his parents had been telling us:
Burton Abbott, Burton Abbott,
death to the person, death to the home planet.
The worst thing was to think of her,
of what it had been to be her, alive,
To be walked, alive, into that cabin,
to look into those eyes, and see the human
Burton Abbott was condemned to death on circumstantial evidence but as the switch was flicked, a stay of execution came through. His case raised the question about the validity of the penalty of death being given based on circumstantial evidence.
He was tied for the murder of 14 year old Stephanie. And the bra relates to her personal possessions being dug up including her bra.
I have in my mind two murders that I cannot shift. One was when I was about 14 or 15 I think and I read in the paper about the Black Panther. I recall there being reports of a girl being buried underground but no one knew where. I have not found details of this despite researching it. And the other is the Soham girls. I have been troubled by the murder of these little girls. I spoke with a Buddhist monk visiting from India. He had said earlier in a talk that he thought most things happen to create lessons. After his talk I spoke to him about my trouble with innocent little girls being murdered as way of teaching. He answered me by saying that there were two things to consider. 1. was that in the Western world there is the commitment to seek out murderers. He reflected on how in India and other parts of the world there is no such determination and murderers do not get caught. 2. Was that the murderer would be a tortured soul (I think at that time no one had been convicted). I saw his point.
BUT
I still have the dilemma of why bad things happen to good people. And a lesson is not seeming to console my distress with this issue.
August 2002
It seems tricky to try and reconcile
This most complex of life dilemma
Why bad things have to happen
To the innocent, good and young?
The hunter in Ian Huntley
Perplexes me right to my core
What world can go on
behind his cold eyes?
What kind of connections
Justify barbaric and tragic decisions
To take the girls as they walked by?
The hunt on for thirteen days
And upholding shocked citizen Ian
Spoke out for the stunned community.
But his bonfire did not burn
Police can confirm from forensic evidence
That Ian Huntley had killed those girls.
He told how he knocked Holly down
Causing her to drown in the bath
And suffoctaed poor Jessica's screams
He said it was all by mistake!
He claimed he felt mentally ill.
It's not normal to behave in this way
When anyone acts with such chill.
So sanely he serves his sentence
Waiting to survive his life term
Hoping no one will get to this throat.
He will be out when he reaches 68?
What lessons are we to have learnt?
We are grateful he was hunted and caught!
But two little girls are still dead
And will not know what it's like to grow old.
Bliss
XX
Then dirt scared me, because of the dirt
he had put on her face. And her training bra
scared me—the newspapers, morning and evening,
kept saying it, training bra,
as if the cups of it had been calling
the breasts up—he buried her in it,
perhaps he had never bothered to take it
off. They found her underpants
in a garbage can. And I feared the word
eczema, like my acne and like
the X in the paper which marked her body,
as if he had killed her for not being flawless.
I feared his name, Burton Abbott,
the first name that was a last name,
as if he were not someone specific.
It was nothing one could learn from his face.
His face was dull and ordinary,
it took away what I’d thought I could count on
about evil. He looked thin and lonely,
it was horrifying, he looked almost humble.
I felt awe that dirt was so impersonal,
and pity for the training bra,
pity and terror of eczema.
And I could not sit on my mother’s electric
blanket anymore, I began to have a
fear of electricity—
the good people, the parents, were going to
fry him to death. This was what
his parents had been telling us:
Burton Abbott, Burton Abbott,
death to the person, death to the home planet.
The worst thing was to think of her,
of what it had been to be her, alive,
To be walked, alive, into that cabin,
to look into those eyes, and see the human
Burton Abbott was condemned to death on circumstantial evidence but as the switch was flicked, a stay of execution came through. His case raised the question about the validity of the penalty of death being given based on circumstantial evidence.
He was tied for the murder of 14 year old Stephanie. And the bra relates to her personal possessions being dug up including her bra.
I have in my mind two murders that I cannot shift. One was when I was about 14 or 15 I think and I read in the paper about the Black Panther. I recall there being reports of a girl being buried underground but no one knew where. I have not found details of this despite researching it. And the other is the Soham girls. I have been troubled by the murder of these little girls. I spoke with a Buddhist monk visiting from India. He had said earlier in a talk that he thought most things happen to create lessons. After his talk I spoke to him about my trouble with innocent little girls being murdered as way of teaching. He answered me by saying that there were two things to consider. 1. was that in the Western world there is the commitment to seek out murderers. He reflected on how in India and other parts of the world there is no such determination and murderers do not get caught. 2. Was that the murderer would be a tortured soul (I think at that time no one had been convicted). I saw his point.
BUT
I still have the dilemma of why bad things happen to good people. And a lesson is not seeming to console my distress with this issue.
August 2002
It seems tricky to try and reconcile
This most complex of life dilemma
Why bad things have to happen
To the innocent, good and young?
The hunter in Ian Huntley
Perplexes me right to my core
What world can go on
behind his cold eyes?
What kind of connections
Justify barbaric and tragic decisions
To take the girls as they walked by?
The hunt on for thirteen days
And upholding shocked citizen Ian
Spoke out for the stunned community.
But his bonfire did not burn
Police can confirm from forensic evidence
That Ian Huntley had killed those girls.
He told how he knocked Holly down
Causing her to drown in the bath
And suffoctaed poor Jessica's screams
He said it was all by mistake!
He claimed he felt mentally ill.
It's not normal to behave in this way
When anyone acts with such chill.
So sanely he serves his sentence
Waiting to survive his life term
Hoping no one will get to this throat.
He will be out when he reaches 68?
What lessons are we to have learnt?
We are grateful he was hunted and caught!
But two little girls are still dead
And will not know what it's like to grow old.
Bliss
XX
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