Tuesday, January 18, 2011

The Defense



Begin with the slash of her
scabbed lips.

Notice the negative space
her cheekbone, its blaze.
                                               
Now, look into the pupil,
squinting from swollen lids,
rainbow of a bruise beneath
her lashes where
a curled hand hit home.

She is somebody’s home.

She flaunts it,
juts a cut chin when
stranger’s gawk,
stares back.

The doctor,
the cops,
the social worker—
they say she’s got to press charges.

Why would I do that? 

And the slash curls.
    
You should see him.


Flickr photo courtesy of Alice Popkorn


2 comments:

  1. It's definitely in the eye of the beholder, isn't it? Every word paints this disturbing picture to perfection. Hearts (or something) lead people around by the niose, so often. Me included.

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  2. Thank you for this great poem...

    ReplyDelete