2

the glass ceiling

 

She keeps her knives hidden
next to her voter id card
and a palm-sized pepper spray can;
she carries her keys splayed
between her fingers.

She sleeps conscious of noise
preoccupied by promise;
believing herself
invincible
she tries to put away some time
to rise above.

Because of you there are 18 million;
but nothing was shattered, nothing was
cracked that you can’t
replace.

The foundation is still standing,
thigh-deep in anger and there’s still
a load of laundry to do.

She votes in the silence.

You hear nothing, wondering
what are these tiny shards
sticking and tearing your skin like fiberglass;
shredding your hands as you
climb over her.

 

 
breadcrumb scabs issue one — january 2009

Advertisements

comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s