September Rain

September rain. It is the middle of the year and I have the desire to escape. A holiday. An impulse purchase. Something deliberate, yet opaque. The separation from previous partners, my cleaning frenzy time of year, a clear and precise pattern, a never ending anxiousness and fear. 16 years later, a letter confirms what September meant. And, I can acknowledge, My neural pathways programmed without consent. The 18th of September in the back of a court room I did sit awaiting sentencing charges, For a crime a family friend had commit The anger in my blood. The sadness in my heart Yet, I quickly hid the letter As felt guilty I had took part. I was ashamed about what happened Despite it being 26 years later The need to keep it a secret. As if I was still being a traitor. It had taken me 9 years, To stand up and jail this person I had risked children’s lives out of fear and disconcertion. unfortunately young children Experience sexual abuse everyday. And carry the secret As feel a role they have to play It is not about speaking out for sympathy or to be seen as a victim It’s about having strength and comfort To know abuse does not depict them. To know that abuse of any sort does not define who we are and nothing for which we should be ashamed Despite he ugly imprinted scar. So, as a mother of two and a step mother of three I say the unspoken is no longer acceptable to me. I hope collectively we can give strength and comfort to those that still haven’t found their voice. As speaking up about such a secret Is truly a tough yet needed choice. Note. James Harris was free by 2007. Yet, 26 years later my inner 7-8year old still holds this crime.