【by Moira Weinstein】

Realize pain does not subside in a day of reckoning.
No matter how hard you cry—to your captor or your mother.
Suddenly I’m in a linen crib again,
rocking back and forth to too fast a melody.
Let me hear my thoughts!—I cannot hear yours.
Do you recognize rosacea and tears
on a freckled face born yesterday?
Standing in the center of a crowded bar
my skin flinches at darts of laughter thrown at me.
Piercing my uvula, I’m stuck to the wall.
Now I cease to speak, to defend my honor.
I am still forever, a victim of lies.