Photo: Rabbit's Den |
We made it through our childhoods unscathed
Perhaps there was the stray hand on our knee
underneath the dinner table at Thanksgiving
Or the overly friendly hug
from a teacher
But we were lucky
We were not the faces on the milk cartons
We were not the bodies found
desecrated and dead
We were the lucky ones
Our youth didn't die in shotgun weddings
to boys we didn't love
Nor in back alley nightmares
from which we might never return
We were lucky
Our nightmares were bright and antiseptic
Wake up, wipe our eyes, and carry on
We had no right to cry
We were the lucky ones
Our bodies were not battered
Perhaps our souls were shattered
Maybe we've been betrayed
by lovers' lies or dreams that died
But we were lucky
Our children had a home
No bruises, no broken bones
We were the lucky ones
We were pale and weak
And lost our hair
But we were lucky
Our hearts still beat inside our ruined chests
Our hands still create beauty
though we are no longer beautiful
We sing for those
who lost the battle we still fight
And we were the lucky ones
2 comments:
I believe you meant Christmas Eve, not Thanksgiving . . . .
I like this! Good on you!
Beautiful and strong poem!
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