Other
i would run, as fast as the wild river,
if i ever had the chance. haphazardly,
i would tear forward into nothingness,
never looking down, tripping up on
the razor sharp stones, feet cut up and
bleeding. i would never be one of them.
the family of shame, scotch and sex.
of silence and isolation, fury and red-faced
screaming. i never understood what they
demanded of me, so i was never anyone
they wanted. yet i carried their mark, the
stamp of having come from some impossible
horror. unable to belong to even That….
i, on my wooden swing, would stare off
into the tall eucalyptus, praying that i
would disappear, or become someone else’s
child. or i would gaze into the clouds,
wishing to live and dance in pink silk
shoes in their light, airy spaciousness,
like a princess of peace and beauty…..
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