i am seven, crying in the bathtub
because my brother turned out the light
my little brother and sister sit behind me, unafraid
because my brother turned out the light
my little brother and sister sit behind me, unafraid
they don’t know the darkness is scary
their laughter echoes[echoes] on the porcelain
but I am still scared, crying
Like
when i’m down stairs, crying in the kitchen
because my brother turned out the light
i should be in bed, my parents are out
the sun has been down for hours, the
light makes an audible ‘click’ as it shuts off
i pull up my feet, and close my eyes
Like
when i’m down stairs, crying in the kitchen
because my brother turned out the light
i should be in bed, my parents are out
the sun has been down for hours, the
light makes an audible ‘click’ as it shuts off
i pull up my feet, and close my eyes
[but not
too loudly because
crying is just a sign of weakness
and ‘I’LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT’]
crying is just a sign of weakness
and ‘I’LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT’]
Like
when i’m fourteen and refusing to sleep
because i won’t turn out the light
he lived four blocks away
and i had to go help him with something
whatever happened after that
when i’m fourteen and refusing to sleep
because i won’t turn out the light
he lived four blocks away
and i had to go help him with something
whatever happened after that
i don’t
remember.
but i do
remember, being seven
crying in the bathtub
and sitting on a chair alone in the kitchen
with all the lights off in the house
afraid to move, too afraid to cry
until my parents came home
crying in the bathtub
and sitting on a chair alone in the kitchen
with all the lights off in the house
afraid to move, too afraid to cry
until my parents came home
Like
how my sister remembers him raping her.
i don’t think I’ve even written that before
everyday she remembers that. every day.
what would it be like, if memory worked that way
how my sister remembers him raping her.
i don’t think I’ve even written that before
everyday she remembers that. every day.
what would it be like, if memory worked that way
the things i do remember,
make me glad there’s so much more I don’t
make me glad there’s so much more I don’t
Our minds protect us until we're ready. Memories of the pain and fear you have are enough. And you have enough to soothe that 7 year old still in terror. As such memories cycle through again we see things in a slightly different light (like appreciating your sister) and able to do more for ourselves than we could do as children. Good for you for putting words on this, good for you for stating your truth. It will set you free. I admire and love you.
ReplyDeleteMy friend, Ruth, posted a poem that I think will speak to you directly. It's called Living Fully with Incompleteness and it's at: http://small-ruth.blogspot.com. I loved it and thought of you.
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