SHOUT(22)
The opposite of innocence is not sin,
despite what you’re told the Bible says.
Don’t get me started on the real meaning of “abomination,”
or the contradictions, omissions the bishops let slide or translation errors, or the scribes who lied.
(Eve ate the apple because Adam
was afraid,
for the record.) The opposite of innocence is not sin. Dearly beloved, the opposite of innocence is strength.
wired together
Movie shoots bedazzle authors even one set at a grimy high school in Columbus, Ohio, 96 degrees
9,000 percent humidity air-conditioning shut down for reasons unknown.
I tried to stay out of the way, slowly melted into a puddle of author sweat, worrying about making mistakes, even though the story was all mine.
The electrician hunted me down.
He looked like the guy in the Dire Straits video “Money for Nothing.”
’Member him?
He looked like my great-uncle; big square guy,
head like a paint can, hands the size of catchers’ mitts, smelled like work
He found me standing at the back of the infernal gym next to a table covered with cables and rolls of black, sticky tape.
He put down his tools and studied his calloused hands, cleared his throat, and whispered, “I’m Melinda.”
I wasn’t sure I heard him right.
His iron-gray eyes
met mine. Ten thousand volts arced through the air then he spoke louder, “I am Melinda,”
and I could hear
I could see the little boy hiding inside him.
I stuttered,
twitching in the electric atmosphere, wishing I had the right words.
He wasn’t there for a chat.
He picked up a roll of black, sticky tape meant for insulating, for holding things together, and said,
“A lot of us working on this film are like her,
cuz, you know”—
he blinked and the tears escaped— “it happened to us, too.”
unraveling
“I know better,” she said “I should have known better”
this tapestry of a girl
the fabric of her world
unraveling
she said, “I threw up while he raped me and he rolled me over
so he could keep going.
Who does that?” she asked thread by thread stitching the whos to her whys to the hows she said, “He didn’t just rape my body; he broke the concrete
of all the sidewalks, so I trip when I walk to class;
he poisons the air in the cafeteria with the laughter of his friends.
I am falling apart at the seams, unstrung, undone, torn to shreds.”
her new sorority has millions of sisters stitching thread with needles sharpened on wombstones
embroidery hoops carved from hip bones patterns whispered girl
child to girl child
sewing sightless words
coding the path to survival counting the bodies and souls with stitches as fine as whispers but cloth, ill-woven and untested warp and woof never quite locking prevent memory’s tapestry from ever being completed so
she will change that by mending the tears, repairing the patchwork of her life with new patterns, stronger knots
she’ll pull herself together become the quilt assembled by loving hands threaded with intention, she’ll start weaving her truth by unbuttoning her mouth
#MeToo
Me, too weak to fight him off me, too scared, silent me too, disassembled by the guy who . . . . . . . . .
mis understood mis taken
men tion my name to my mi sery siblings as we support report
reveal the violence they desperately want us
to conceal.
Me to be stronger, you to stand taller, we to shout louder than they thought we could
keys
It wasn’t a bad idea to go to his house you’ve known him forever, he passed out in your kitchen one night middle of the party
(you gave him a pillow and puke bucket and he washed both the next day) you met his parents at homecoming they liked you
he ordered pizza and is dying to game on his new console, he made margaritas cuz they are your fave
you can trust him.
He didn’t say his roommates were gone for the weekend but hey,
you know the rules, you’ve stood under the social media waterfall of pics and videos of women defending themselves how to fight back when attacked in the dark, car keys between fingers Wolverine claws ready in an alley, when the stranger approaches you’re the superhero
sound effects floating above your head, kick him in the balls
you are empowered
to smash his throat, shove his nose bones into his brain, so easy.
And Squad rules, right?
We girls watch out for each other monitor our drinks, emergency signal flares if we need rescuing, no one leaves the club with a stranger unless GPS tracking is turned on and check-in times assigned we are strong
we take care of each other.
But this isn’t that cuz he’s not that guy,
he’s a buddy, and a friend of a bunch of friends he’s a friend squared, cubed, and he hands you the margarita laced
with GHB or ketamine or Rohypnol as he takes the controls, turns on his game