He slapped her with an open palm

before telling her she’d be sold.

He slapped her mama

and then took the crying baby from his shuddering sister.

He crushed her skull with the weight of his boot, and the force of his last kick.

The vividness of sights of violence don’t leave me,

not even with practice.

They form my mood,

their cacophony

quoting its energy relentlessly.

lethargy is my only defense,

as I need a reason to shut my eyes.

I wish to forget,

but truthfully

just

to be alone.

bystanders watch

while violence occurs,

and I hate to be a bystander.

I hate knowing to anticipate body terrorism,

and I hate making anything else a bigger point.

remember the omnipresence she scolded,

deal with the heavy countenance.

take in sounds

smells

images

tastes

responses

questions

lineages

sensations

melancholy

grief

cynicism

optimism

decisions made at all levels.

representing people.

expressing ideas.

offering interpretation.

distilling

tRuTh

TrUtH

truth

TRUTH

trutH

Truth.

when the bigness

is rushed

so that it might be

manageable,

what else can’t we

hold

or see

or feel?

I want to feel good

but that’s not a story I trust.

you want changed hearts

and I want capable ones.