and a girl said
through a shadow,
a mist of raw blood,
drunk friends,
his sweaty smell
fingers at breasts. . .
No!
Stop!
She is thousands.
The storm still ripping,
showing what we are
and what could be.
The moon whispers,
asks us to soar.
Morning Moon
say we dream—
watch the light
spray like water,
sweet music of
wind, rock, and forest.
Sit with me there
in our away and after,
seeing ifs
Two poems from the Oracle. She is following the news.
My creative non-fiction piece, “Pearl,” is up at Rhythm & Bones. My thanks to Tianna G. Hansen for publishing this story that was looking for a home. I’m pleased to be a part of this issue.
I was a carefree child who played in the warmth of the sun. But her glow and mine have dimmed. At night, after he has finished with me, the moon sends her light to comfort me. Cold comfort. Still, she guides me now, lighting a pearlescent path for me, tangled and silver like the scars that trace my body, but leading me to freedom. I’ve killed him, and though he took my innocence, he can no longer hurt me. My past, present, and future merge—who I was and who I will become. I am broken, but not destroyed. One day, I may glow again, like the sun.
The moon saw sorrow
her tears, silver waves of hope
to light the darkness
Credit Line: John G. Johnson Collection, 1917 Philadelphia Museum of Art
This haibun is a late entry for Colleen Chesebro’s weekly poetry challenge. The prompt words were past and future. Some of you know I’m working on two reference books on rape. So, this. Now back to work for me!
According to the UN Women web site, worldwide, 1 in 3 women experience physical or sexual violence, most often from an intimate partner.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 
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