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.