The Quiet Place I Stand
They say the cage is invisible,
But I can’t even hear the bars rattle,
How ignorant can I be?
I squint;
Peering at others clawing chains I can’t see—
I wonder;
Is my sight broken, or just clean?
I ask, why can’t she be?
They stare—
as though it was clear;
“It’s what’s missing between her legs,”
And what could that mean?
I laugh, unsure if they were joking;
She doesn’t—
My tongue lays heavy inside my mouth.
She’d been convicted by unseen jurors,
in a trial she was born into;
Where I thought I was asking,
I was only echoing.
His cries pierce through knots
of testosterone—
I hear his pain,
I reach out but my arm pulls back
when I hear:
“Now we know what’s between his legs,”
And what’s
that
got to do with it?
I can’t see the cage, the chains,
And how visceral it is for them to keep sane,
But how torturous—
A soul that is bound.
From here, I can only
picture—
The pain you feel,
But I believe it is real;
This is quiet place I stand.
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