Wednesday, September 20, 2006

I sometimes wonder what they knew, and how they felt

For the 25 Girls
September 18, 2006

This is for the 25 girls in my grade 9 gym class.
For the girls who knew what went wrong
And the ones who never noticed.
For the ones who cared,
And the ones who were scared and ashamed.
For the girls who spoke like a well of tears
And the ones who were silent.
For the ones who blamed themselves.
For the girls who never questioned the blood stains the next class.
And those who never came back.
For the girls I finally told,
And the ones I loved too much to tell.
For the girls who begged me to cheer on their teams
And the ones who realized that I’d never go back.
For the girl who discovered my torn clothing the next day;
If she wondered where it came from, or never asked.
If she knew inside.
If she told.
My name was written in sharpie on the tags.
This is for the girls who left the school
And never found out.
And the ones who knew who did it.
This is for my friends
Who were never the same
And the girl whose face
Was the last thing I saw before his.
I still think her face is beautiful.
This is for the 25 girls who were with me
The day I was raped
After grade 9 gym class.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Take Back the Night

You all should come to this. It's an anti-violence women's march. Last year I missed it because I didn't know it was this early in the year, so I'm determined to make it this year (even though it's 2 hours away from me by bus!).

COME!!! This is something that's very important.

Monday, February 20, 2006

Thoughts from Annie Dillard

"Every inchworm I have seen was stuck in long grasses. The wretched inchworm hangs from the side of a grassblade and throws its head around from side to side, seeming to wail. What! No further? Its back pair of nubby feet clasps the grass stem; its front three pairs of nubs reach back and flail in the air, apparently in search of a footing. What! No further? What? It searches everywhere in the wide world for the rest of the grass, which is right under its nose. By dumb luck it touches the grass. Its front legs hang on; it lifts and buckles its green inch, and places its hind legs just behind its front legs. Its body makes a loop, a bight. All it has to do now is slide its front legs up the grass stem. Instead it gets lost. It throws up its head and front legs, flings its upper body out into the void, and panics again. What! No further? End of world? And so forth, until it actually reaches the grasshead's tip. By then its wee weight may be bending the grass toward some other grass plant. Its davening, apocalyptic prayers sway the grasshead and bump it into something. I have seen it many times. The blind and frantic numbskull makes it off one grassblade and onto another one, which it will climb in virtual hysteria for several hours. Every step brings it to the universe's rim. And now - What! No further? End of world? Ah, here's ground. What! No further? Yike!" ~ Annie Dillard, The Writing Life

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Wrote this a couple weeks ago. I named my latest poetry volume after it.

Monster on an Elastic Leash

January 7th, 2006

Soft fingers tickling, touching, grabbing,
Creeping where they never should be.
Peeling away the soft and the vulnerable,
Tightening the knot that’s inside me.

Tether me, naked, into this damp world.
The darkness strips me, breeding with fright.
A monster on an elastic leash
Is snarling from inside the hell of the night.