As part of the Days of Action to support Bresha Meadows
, currently in Trumbull County Juvenile Detention Center for defending herself and her family, I've written a poem. When I tried to write about the abuse Bresha endured and what she'd been forced to do, my thoughts kept veering off into escapist fantasies. The truth is, this 14-year-old girl was forced to confront a viciousness so terrifying, most adults can't look at it head-on. I certainly can't.
If you are so moved, please share my poem (with proper attribution) and a link to the #FreeBresha blog.
To #FreeBresha Meadows, and Myself
I tell your story straight
exactly as it happened
exactly as brave as you were
as you had to be
through years of abuse
the gun in your face
then in your hands
to protect yourself, your family.
Is it the writer in me
that burns to revise your tragedy
to send a spaceman
silver-suited from the future
to save you from the screams?
To unleash a dragon
fire-mouthed and dagger-clawed
to defend you, or sneak
a singing sword beneath your bed
help you sever unholy bonds?
Or is it the mother in me
who yearns to twist your tale
to happily ever after
by stroke of luck or fairy dust
hook or crook?
Anything to transform
the garbage the agencies gave you
into a swift carriage to sunnier days
those rats who betrayed you
into footmen at your mercy.
Or is it the girl inside me
the one who watched Dad
drive Mom to tears
who clapped when he clapped
thinking it some game?
Who, years later, watched him corner
a new wife, his hand raised to smack?
I lured the wolf from his rampage
but still he ruled the forest.
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