In the crowd of a witch hunt,
walking in the main street of the village.
The firm violence of 5 men,
her numb limp body.
In the electric circuit of the trial,
I spoke up for her in her eyes.
I did not see the sneers,
though I felt the lines of fingers crossing throats.
The crowd was a mess,
healer vs
dark witch.
In
the
end:
Banishment.
(Painful psy, not in vain)
The crowd was satisfied taking her children
from her
and dumping them in a home for adoption.
Their law I could not speak.
Their law I could not speak.
Fuming aura.
This is 2013.
The
clouds into fire.
As the bridge-heart-nerves
of their maternal-seeking arms break,
their screams…
Powerful piece; the taking of the children always reminds me of Aboriginal Australia. Your blog is gorgeous
ReplyDeletethanks suzie! still doing poetry open mics in belgrave if your interested, 2nd Thursday of every month at Oscars ale house, beautiful group of people... otherwise let us know if your in the hills an we'll arrange a catch up, we're in sassafras now... magic place... ahh life in spring!
ReplyDelete