“sang it sometimes, but never said it.” from beloved by toni morrison some …who have not earned their laughter with agonies immortal… might think of it as funny-strange that to this day i’ve never, never looked headlong into an expectant gaze and illustrated my loss…. never built the wall in person… never said he held down my legs and pulled my thighs apart i was nineteen never said at first we were playing a game then he sat on my chest and held down my arms banging my head on the ground when i refused to remain stationary and watch his saliva goo-ing off his mouth down onto my face i was ten never lifted the corner of my skirt and pointed to a mark- see – here? that was a scar from the cook hitting over and over and he said he would not stop until i willingly opened my legs and when i came to i didnt understand the origin the source of the blood i was nine no i’ve never related not into waiting eyes that well into my womanhood every moment claimed between my thighs was tied to consequential aftermaths or to the ripping of flesh and the presence of bruising. ears have held my stories levitated off my already soft-toned tongue in sob-raspy whispers eyes remotely drank lettered tales of my woes from pages near or far screens bearing separation from them who have not purchased today’s smiles with yesteryear’s tears but it occured to

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