So we start with my father as a boy barely spoke a word of english fell in
love from a distance he watched her working from the back fence
He learned some words and some clever turns of phrase from his father's
book of poets, she wasn't taken in that instant, but grew impressed with
his persistence.

They met each other out by moonlight, made love in the nearby woods, then
her folks became suspicious when her cycle broke and (?). They stole
away without their goodbyes, got married in a foreign town, made their way
as best as they could. Found jobs and settled down. And then time moved on.

I was born in a river of blood on sheets from the wedding day. The room was dark and the stench was thick my father couldn't stand the smell of it.

Mama died in the night cause the nearest doctor couldn't stem the blood
loss. Father cried out on the back porch. My sister held me at the
neighbor's house. Oh my there was a storm then, there was a flood of a
different kind. Father's eyes were often vacant, but his hands were rarely
quiet. Sister learned to take her hits well, both from life and the
physical kind, but I was never one to lie down, despite who picked the
fight. So we designed our [bad word] 

Father turned into a drinker, a dark [bad word] with a wooden heart. Sister
learned to be a mother, before she ever played another part. And I became a
little terror, I lashed out at whatever's around. Took some time before I
settled, to find a mind that was somewhat sound. And like it always does, [bad word] on.

Six years later father died in the very same bedroom. Many said it was the
grief that did it, I have to say it's cause he hung himself. To be honest
neither sister nor myself ever much regret his passing. But I admit it was
a nice thing, to always know that we could feed ourselves.