You watched me weep with no remorse,
unclothed my nine-year-old virginity,
massaged budding breasts with insane
pleasure as you praised the pitiless
organ that made my immoral youth.
My tiny brown innocence spread
beneath your web, sacrificing itself,
so you would never make
your way to sister’s room.
No matter how many times
I lie down, I cannot forget
the eerie shadows on the wall
in lightness, in darkness
flashbacks of you…
and me immortalized
in my recurring nightmare.
Shawn R. Jones
Reprinted from Womb Rain
(Finishing Line Press, 2008)
Author of the devotional book, Pictures in Glass Frames http://t.co/BxiNwWRG
and the poetry chapbook, Womb Rain,