Civil Society

[Oceantide]

Civil Society

They are afraid. They say ‘don’t go’.
They say ‘it’s dirty, dangerous, degenerate.’
I say ‘it’s pure, honest, broken.’
I go. I do not think. I walk, long city block after city block, until I reach it.
It’s an abandoned parking lot.
Heroin needles, graffitied wall, drug deals, sex pacts.

I am eight.
No one is there. I sleep under the stars.
I know this place. I walk past this city block on my way home from school each day.
I walk this way to avoid the bully who lurks among the tree-lined streets and picket-fenced houses.
The one who crushes my thin frame with his flabby heft, [given name] [surname].
I walk this way to stop at the Dime Store to buy a pretzel rod or licorice stick;
Spending pennies from my creepy grandfather.

They say don’t walk this way.
But when the time comes, I know exactly where to walk.

I am eight.
I’ve endured my father’s perversions for years.
Then I saw him. In my baby sister’s nursery.
Silent witness to his drunken assault on a diapered innocent.
I broke open. I saw myself. A silent scream tore my heart. I slipped back into bed.

The next night as he bathed me-and-my-5-yr-old-sister, getting off so lovingly, I committed ‘mutiny’.
I dove overboard, leaping out of the bathtub, naked, streaking down the front stairs out into the front yard where the neighborhood kids were still playing in the sprinkler on that warm summer’s eve.
Jekyl turned Hyde.
I’d shamed him publicly, exposing his filth.
He raged in hot pursuit, a 6foot 30yrold athlete, company VP, church deacon.
He whacked my naked bottom in a rage, in front of all of the neighbors.
After that night they targeted me too. No protection in that house.

That night I got it.
He came into my room in the dark of night, and carried me, oh so lovingly, to our car.
He drove me to a field in the countryside.
This time he was ready. When I was one someone had heard my cries at the rest stop.
The policeman had stopped him, with a warning: “you’ve been molesting your baby, sir.” Don’t do it again.
This time he had the pillow. He forced me on my stomach and suffocated me, choking me, binding me.
He tortured and raped me. Then, lovingly, drove me home and carried me, gently, back into my bed.

So that night I walked, a zombie in shock, right down the stairs, right out the door.
I’ve walked city streets ever since. [hometown], New York, Paris, Beijing, Richmond.
The streets are my friends.
The broken concrete block is my pillow.
The drug addicts and prostitutes, they know.
Crickets, summer grasses, starry nights, they see.
The streets are my friends.
The danger, my friend, is lurking within those picture perfect picket fenced houses.

[greendreamdays]

Heartbreaking. Thank you for breaking your silence.

[Watercolor]

So many, like you, with no ally or support while so very young and tender. I'm sad for your suffering.

[there]

You’ve endured so much. I am sad to read.
Yet with creativity, you transform some of the pain into beauty.

I love the last section of the poem.