Sunday, February 27, 2011

photographic memory

It’s all there
in your pale eyes,
glowing ghostly
from your nightlike skin.

It’s all there –
your empty stare,
your hardset lips
(so otherwise lush).

In your scars,
you are a thing –
possessed – not a
person to be asked.

The harm done
to you will last
generations
into centuries.

from the series violations

1 comments:

MariJo Moore said...

Cheri

The rawness of your poetry blends wonderfully with your intent of making us think!

Write on, dear one, write on!

MariJo Moore