Read Poems by Bridget Bruns

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His Room my Prison

I saw the house,
bare bereft
only THAT room left.
Gone are my books
gone is my bed
but the rape stays the same.

All of the cruel games
I, unknowingly, played.
Younger siblings' and
friend's pleading eyes,
make him stop!

I'm so sorry
I can't help,
or else
it will only be me
instead of you.

Pink walls
where I drew in pencil
but the crimes cannot be erased.

Standing naked on display
no hair yet upon
my trembling body.
He's pointing out my personal anatomy
as if he's some teacher.
Please, just let them go!

After learning of Hitler
and the Jews, I drew their star
hoping he'd be tortured too.

Sixteen years later,
and still in my mind
that accursed room is always the same.

Copyright © Bridget Bruns | Year Posted 2016


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