He kneaded Her

She may be being beaten

As we read this

Together,

Hold on, it sounds morbid, but there is nothing that can be done to stop it.

One learns to accept the role of  I-witness, until one cannot bear to watch-

And then instead of gashes and broken bones, he could be pushing

Her buttons, shoving

Thing in corners

And covering them up with

Sickness. 

He certainly demands

ATTENTION! Obedience and privacy,

Of course, isolation and abuse are like marriages,

Ownership issues and subtle clues, like Grand Canyon colors,

Naturally, it was about the little words, the little monies,

The precious little time, the violent vices, the weak needs

And the only daughter they despise.

She is cowering, her nose red, her eyes black, her thoughts run away with the

Memories, tapes we tried to unstick, etchings I attempted to erase by

Geography and sandy paper,

Moments that seemed frozen

Then

And then

And then

And then...

Painting by John Reinhard Weguelin, Woman in the reeds c. 1895 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Fear Fiends

If every single one of us
stopped right Now-
pointing aim and angle-
no longer letting out the line
tightening the drag
on those baiting fear
would schools be safe?

If every personhood
could forget they ever saw terror
we could forget its name and
claim for attention and mention.

If we remained strangers
violence would be candy
that decays our good taste.

If all of our hands were clean
we could touch without harm,
and move without touch
yet the lines are long
and gloved with grime.

If we knew how to weild love
without fear of rejection
violence would be in vain.

This stress has made a bloody mess
of bones to pick and bodies to bury.
We have come weak with atrophy
choosing wealth over value,
terrified by the tought of loss.

The fear we put here
as bearers of terrors
we make
hearts ache.


Image By Popular Publications (Scanned cover of pulp magazine) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.