NO MORE. I AM JANE DOE.

Do not whisper the truth

as it would be considered rude—

NO

It is what they expect and say.

Tuck the scars away,

Shove them into the junk drawer.

NOT AGAIN

Politely smile and wave,

Making sure you’ve nothing

To disturb anyone else’s day.

Do not ruin their futures

For it was just a boyish mistake.

EVER FOR ANY GIRL

Stay silent and save

Your future too

That way.

Smile and wave.

Yes, make nice.

OR ANY WOMAN

Do not offend.

Do not be rude

By allowing your scars

To smash and intrude.

Keep subjects to bleached blandness

Of weather, pets, and binge worthy TV.

NO MORE

Do not be rude.

Do not offend

By showing your scars,

Freeing them from the dusty junk drawer.

Stay in smiling silence.

Smiling silence–

NO MORE. I AM JANE DOE

Between Rocks and Hard Places

Image is my own

I read The New York Times–

Rocks and hard places

around the world

children and us

Starving

dying

murdered

between

rocks and hard places—

My face in my hands.

I think of my mother, my father, myself—

we all have lived

between rocks and hard places

from time to time—

But now, now—

It is all rocks,

it is all hard places.

For all.

–It has been raining here

for over a week

unusual

in this high desert.

The rain a result of storms

off the western coast of Mexico.

The mountains, like ancient grandmothers,

shroud themselves in clouds

as if mourning

all of us

caught between

rocks and hard places.

This world–

where a thirteen-year-old boy

says, “I have no one.  I have nothing,”

in answer to the choice

between voluntary departure or a removal order

issued by an immigration judge–

should not contain such rocks and hard places.

This world–

where a diabetic has been cut off

from health insurance programs

and rations out what is left of her insulin

to be able to afford gas to get work and feed her kids–

should not contain such rocks and hard places.

This world–

where a farmer must let his crops rot

since he cannot afford the diesel fuel

to harvest those crops without losing money–

should not contain such rocks and hard places.

This world–

where a young girl’s future

is never considered as important

as that of the man or men

who have brutally assaulted her–

should not contain such rocks and hard places.

I want a world

without

rocks and hard places

for my grandchildren,

for all children–

a world of plenty

of peace

of acceptance–

where no one needs stand upon another

to feel bigger or better,

where no one’s worship

is the only way to worship,

where care for each other

is placed above the dollar—

perhaps not a perfect world,

but a world

where we do not create

rocks and hard places

for people

to live between.

Chains of Fears

Image courtesy of Tumbler
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/10/17/weekend-writing-prompt-179-lucid/

Lucidity picks at the chains wrapped round a soul

Anchored to the ground of fears bought whole

In the marketplace while traipsing through dreams

Resplendent with beauty and flights of fanciful imaginings

That harsh noisy words and bruising blows etched,

Tattooed lucid fears.

Lilith’s Mantle

from Pinterest

We reject the second mother
you would give us,
reject subjugation
of ripped rib bone,
accept not the pain
from seeking knowledge.

We have borne brutality for the ages,
Silent always,
In churches,
In governments,
In streets,
And in our homes.
Our mouths learned silence,
keeping us, at least, alive.

Oh, we were worthy of protection
As long as we were your possessions:
Your mothers, your daughters,
Your sisters, your wives.
As long as you owned us
And we did as we were told,
We lived, perhaps, unbruised.

But the brave have shown us
Through the ages and now again
They show us another way.
We find our voice,
Too strident for your ears,
But even our whispers
Are too strident for you.

You will mock us,
Vilify us, this we know.
Proudly we wear the mantle
Of the first mother,
Lilith, the one you deemed
An enemy long ago and banished.
Her spirit moves us to speak
Against the men who take
Even our bodies from us.
You may beat us, kill us,
Force us into marriage and childbearing,
Rape us, place weapons into the hands
Of the children we bear,
Weld the chains of slavery upon us,
And laughingly say we asked for it
Should we complain.

Yet after all that and more,
Our submission you will not have.
We will rise like an ocean wave
Wakened by a great quake
Beneath the sea and drown you
With the devastation of your hate.

Soon some of Lilith’s daughters
Will march. Some will wait across
The Earth.

But Lilith’s mantle
Covers us all.
The quake is coming.
The wave will free us all.

American Dream

America, we never were a great nation.
Not with the genocide of native peoples, slave auctions
And slavery, Jim Crow, The Trail of Tears,
Japanese Internments, and the KKK.
No, we were never great.
We are always a nation of becoming.
A nation of ideals.
A nation great in flickering moments
Like old news reel footage:
When Harriet led her railroad,
When the suffragettes marched for the vote,
When Rosa would not be moved,
When Martin believed in the one day
Every child would have,
When Edie and Thea showed
Marriage should be defined by love,
Not biological gender.
We are a people of hope, of dreams,
Of knowing life would be better
When we made each other great.

Now, hate ripples from one sea
To another, and neither shines any longer
With Liberty because her torch
Grows dim with this reign of hate.
And there are many who want to forge once again
The chains to her ankles, shackling her in place,
Because they want to keep her,
But just for looks sake. Her mate, Justice, remains
On life support, having been beaten to a bloody pulp
By those who see color, who see gender,
Who see all the women who need
To be put in their place,
Who see a society where Justice serves only
The white Christian right, or rather, where Justice is made
Their slave. No, this is not a great nation.
This is not a great nation
When a leader can bully and spew hate
While the First Lady urges kids
“Be Best” in a limp campaign to not do the same
And few mention the irony.
This is not a great nation.

This is not a great nation
When a leader can urge violence
Against the media, immigrants, those who disagree
And so few carry an outcry.
This not a great nation
Where 18 trans women, 17 of them of color,
Can be murdered within less than a year
Yet our highest court must hear how
Laws do not apply to LGBTQ.
No, this is not a great nation
When so many must blame, exclude, and hate,
When so many must abase another to uplift themselves,
All the while professing Christianity.

Our founders gave us rules of law to make us better than this.
We are not a great nation
Until we realize the American Dream
Doesn’t see color or gender,
Doesn’t see race or religion,
Doesn’t see sexual identity,
Until none of us need to stand on the backs
Of others to feel better about ourselves—
Until we realize the American Dream is freedom and equality
And there is enough for all to go around,
We can not be a great nation.

But the greatness in our nation is this:
That we can be
If we recognize our humanity.

The Brave Ones

(A Tribute to Christine Blasey Ford)

We reject the mother
Born to subservience
of ripped rib bone.
No longer will we accept
Bloody beatings and brutality,
Rape and rage,
Silent,
Powerless,
Fearful.
No longer do we accept this pain
As payment for the sin
Of seeking knowledge.

For millennia, we were lucky to live unbruised
As long as we were your possessions:
Your mothers, your daughters,
Your sisters, your wives.
As long as you owned us
And we did as we were told.

But through the ages,
The brave ones have shown us another way:
To seek the spirit of our true mother,
The one born in the same earth of equality.

So we find her voice and our own.
We speak.
Though you would silence us
With vitriol and mockery,
The brave ones have taught us well;
We will never be silent again.