“Look into my soul,” she says,
“& you’ll find a crime scene
with all the usual suspects.”
If you ask her for a statement
she’ll show you her scars instead:
“why does it do this?
what’s happening to me?”
Her family’s a bruise
that never went away,
something stuck between
a rape & a murder. A hurt
she has no words for,
nothing she can use to prove
she’s been a victim of unnamed
perpetrators. Her only fear is
becoming the eternal cold case,
the motiveless crime,
the faceless statistic…
she has no proof of this other than
the fact she understands walls
& that no matter how long you
teeter on the brink, there will never
be enough caution tape
to put anything back together again.
“If you don’t believe me,” she says,
“ask the egg.
“& you’ll find a crime scene
with all the usual suspects.”
If you ask her for a statement
she’ll show you her scars instead:
“why does it do this?
what’s happening to me?”
Her family’s a bruise
that never went away,
something stuck between
a rape & a murder. A hurt
she has no words for,
nothing she can use to prove
she’s been a victim of unnamed
perpetrators. Her only fear is
becoming the eternal cold case,
the motiveless crime,
the faceless statistic…
she has no proof of this other than
the fact she understands walls
& that no matter how long you
teeter on the brink, there will never
be enough caution tape
to put anything back together again.
“If you don’t believe me,” she says,
“ask the egg.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.