They come for them, one by one. Little girls, ages 5-10: they will be groomed to birth little boys who’ll be men who’ll dictate our every move. Our #village is near passion and pain and thrives on the broken hearts of others. Our motto: “Let us ruin your lives for free.”
Originally shared via Twitter as a response to the prompt word “village.”
he hovered over
her shoulders, kneading
the knots from left to right.
she’d been tense for several
weeks worrying about the
impending divorce and
placement of their children.
what happens to a family
when both parents
cheat on each other?
who broke whose heart?
what do you say to
everyone waiting for
the truth when all they’ve
heard are lies?
she breathed a hard batch
of air from her mouth
out to the ether.
the petrissage is always
the best part of her
massage therapy.
she’s in constant need
of getting the
kinks out of
her life.
The Twitter #vss365 prompt word for today is “petrissage” (a massage technique that involves kneading the body.)
clouds break before noon,
the wind rushes in and
the two of us sit with
the chill as if
tomorrow plans on
beating around the bush
about showing up.
I hold his hand.
he brushes against
my sun-beaten skin and
tries to steal a moment
with my eyes.
we sit in the glow of
a freshly splattered rain,
sun peeking its head out
while drops fall–Devil’s
beating his wife.
I don’t want to miss
a second of his
green-eyed stare.
I watch the moon as
it hurries in between
sibling clouds, its
intent is clear.
it’s here to stop
our show.
tonight, there will be
no encore.
Deb Ewing landed on Medium this past month and she has been lighting the platform up ever since! When she reached out to me to become a writer for A Cornered Gurl, I was beside myself with glee for I had been following her on Twitter. When I say this woman is a fireball, trust & believe she is that. Her writing shows no fear: it is raw and intense. I want nothing more than to read her writing over and over again. I am glad I get to be one of her editors.
The piece that lands her the feature for this week is her second contribution to ACG and it is aptly titled, “hate speech.” Not only is she an incredible writer, but she is also a visual artist. The artwork you see accompanying her poem is hers. You will not be disappointed. I guarantee it.
you don’t see the cavity
right away
it slips between etiquette
and camaraderie
testing the atmosphere
where allowed, it swells
into a sandwich, eaten
by those craving sustenance
but the comfort of bread
only soaks up the serum
leaking out from what
might have been
meat
it crawls up the gullet
takes a life of its own
proclaims smiling
You Let This Happen
and you did.
Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.
and sometimes, it works.
others, I find myself
knocking at my brain,
trying to get it to shift
from thoughts of her to
thoughts of something else.
when I hear her voice,
the core of me lights up,
happiness centers around
my entire being.
I want to sit seaside with her,
shake my feet alongside hers
in the calming coolness of the
spring water.
I pick up my phone.
I put it down.
I pick it up.
I put it down.
This becomes a test of
testing my strengths and
my weaknesses and I
am weak for her.
I don’t want to be.
I want to be moved
without moving and yearn
without yearning, but in order
to do this, I have to
learn to let her go.
how do I do that when
all I have ever wanted
was to hold onto
her?
Sandy has such an intuitive and forthright mind. She’s also quite bold in her delivery and I love her writing for these things. I read this poem and I can see the imagery, feel the intensity, and respect the ending. It connects. She creates connection.
Please visit the original post to comment and like. ❤
As dawn breaks
over another day of uncertainty
silent comes the moth unbidden
from the cornered shadows
of my bedroom
frantic wings flee the dark.
I see not an intruder but
a fateful refugee
perhaps sent to probe
the virtuous nature
of a heart flush with fortune.
I cup my hands gently
around the winged creature
knowing it would be far less
trouble to drop it
in the toilet
into a watery grave,
it’s only a moth, after all.
Yet its wings
beat against my palms
not with a threat
but with a plea;
our connection is complete
in this moment
the moth and me
need only one thing — mercy
Sandy Knight, ©2020 All rights reserved.
A Cornered Gurl 
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