Disarray

The Night Hawk Whom shall I tell my tale of woes? who shall sing with me my song of oblivion the evil that descended hearth-stead, in the tail of a winter night, swooped upon us like a bald eagle, as vicious as a hungry wolf, raped my mothers and their daughters, and planted in them his abomination. Who shall I tell my shame? The unthinkable event of that night had left behind unthinkable souvenirs. Now, my mothers’ bellies are swollen with abominations. Whom shall I tell my fathers’ dilemmas? My fathers now accept congratulations for another man’s evil. What other option do they have anyway? I have tried running away, but I still hear the echoes of my imaginations— the penury of my mother’s voices, giving birth to abominations. Running won’t cleanse my roots of the abominations. But where do I begin? Everywhere pongs of abomination. How do I begin? When my mothers even love the abominations? When do I begin? Maybe when the sun trades shift with the moon? I cry like a mother hen. the night hawk has whisked my offspring. I do not cry so the evil one would release his clench. I’m only crying so the world would hear my voice.