Call of the Siren (Unfinished)

It is a beautiful day.
It will be beautiful still,
even after I name
what is making me ill.

Around me, for a moment—everywhere—
police cars and ambulatory care
compete for my attention with their blare.


You have raped me, m��ma.
You have raped my mind.
And it took fifteen thousand,
eight hundred ninety-seven

days of dull pain to find all the words for
what you did to me���at first, in fury,
later, out of habit. And nowhere could


I hide from you, when I was
small���a frightened rabbit in
a hidey hole. And���oh,
there was so much to hide!

Your wrath would not be satisfied by just
(or less just) violations of my brain.
You lit the gas and rendered me insane.