A Rape Victim’s Memory

She knows there are some things

a body must forget

like the feel of a stranger’s hand

prying knees apart like a stubborn door

whose hinges scream out for oil

or the rancid smell of breath brushing her neck,

presenting a string of overused curse words

to be placed about her neck like a cheap necklace

or the pressure of a foot placed on her bed

after a window was jimmied open as if though there was

no mother to caution against such childishness

or the feel of calloused hands

laying across her mouth and

the taste of the screams she was forced

to swallow

or the urge to vomit, her throat contracting

as the muted screams scratch against her throat,

something trying to come up

the screams or yesterday’s dinner

or the incessant wondering how he

could fail to translate the hatred she knew

lived behind her gaze – She refused to close

her eyes, wanted him to see her falling apart

or how each thrust felt like a violent ripping apart

of her body, ripping flesh from bone

will she ever be able to forget

any of those things that it’s necessary to forget

or will she continue to carry them along

behind her like a name she never learned

to form her lips to utter

Peace & Love,

Rosalind