We heard tears
tear at the seams of mercy,
plead for justice and found
weep between the interstice
of relentless fits,
burst from aching thirst
for vindication,
for emancipation
to drought his reign.
But only the illicitly explicit
ring doorbells here
to solicit fear near,
sear death into innocence,
and strangle dignity
to muteness;
before stitching blurred identities
and tucking the blanket of night
under soaked pillows.

spindles the vestige,
shadows of her former self
dealt no wealth of rights
‘til she craves what’s left.
All she knows
is to be collared,
cuffed, ironed,
and pocketed into holes
that will never
hold change.

She’s a hand-me,
kick-me-down patchwork;
spooled into remission
as if she were cancer,
wishing to expedite
the expedition
of these episodes untold
by any syllables,
solely audible
by bruises branded
by fistfuls-of-flesh,
fresh broken glass
and splintered wood her frame
was never meant to furnish.

We still flinch at touch
and wince at dusk,
clinging to rays
as if they’d last
‘til dawn.


One thought on “Witness

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