I stood outside the world to learn the truth, it’s a stacked deck and for every good father there are three like Lot making comfort women of their daughters.
When my Lot came it wiped me away, in my place a blank statue and the cloth of me somewhere else.
Atop this frozen figure - the birds of my voice scattered into oblivion - an empty cage. A wire mouth rusted shut.
I can’t speak it but I wrap around the pen and write. With my words I’ll make a fist. In childhood diaries between the blue pansies and stickers, abbreviated in notebooks, outlined in emails, I see the shape of it forming.
I’m not there yet but soon I’ll write my body back to catch those birds and then you’ll hear my childhood screams.
2 thoughts on “Catching the Scream”
Some powerful imagery in here!
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