I wrote this poem in response to the many brave women who have shared their stories about domestic violence as part of the #MeToo moment. Because of them, I hope the next generation has fewer such stories to tell.
A blue red planet
eclipsing the orbital socket,
each shattered insurrection
caught bone. He tells you,
you are the fact of your stature,
but you have never been more
than how angry you make him.
The honeymoon: A tropical bird
flared on your rib cage.
At night, you pet its feathers,
so each one knows it is not alone.
When he saw it, he bucked,
hands trying to wring the fever
from his skull, gathering more
instead. Is it a trick of the eye or
did the bird shrink from him, too?
He is the pestle to your mortar.
Were you supposed to be harder
stone and no one told you?
No one told you, but
you are not alone.