I had lived one life with my face turned from the sun,
breathing icy winds and my father’s sin.
He is gone now but his fingerprints
remain a stain upon my broken bones.
My sister traded his midnight hugs for an opium exit;
her ashes instead of his lashes.
I took my refuge in dark shadows and withered.
Was rewarded with a year sabbatical in a red brick asylum,
bought and paid for with my mother’s silence.
She collected her ransom daily/offered up her womb’s fruit
to feed him like grapes to Caesar’s gaping maw.
She furnished her home with lost innocence
and found comfort in our cries.
She is buried now and I am robbed of my mourning.
Unearth me when tomorrow comes.
Set my broken feet upon polished stones;
let ascending steps carry me home.
My screams no longer echo from the mountaintops
My dreams no longer tether my pain.
I am not healed, but I feel, and my words
anoint my open wounds.
8 thoughts on “We Write What We Know”
Amazing write. Thank you for speaking the words many of us can not.
a very moving and haunting piece
when I learned to give voice to my silent thoughts of my past
I realized I detached from that time, all is left are words and hidden scars that a word, a tone of voice, a smell or even a sound of a slamming door..the physical pain is gone but not the remembering
time cannot heal completely for there is always a reminder somewhere
I always wonder when I will be totally free….
your words have a gentle flow…..
You too. Sorry, I’ve been in a slump lately. I’ll get back online soon.
Let me know if you want to write together. Maybe I can help.
We’ve similar roads, I see hasty comment she will bring light where there is none. Hasty open a crack now I can see!
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