silence and the creative process

she writes
when it hurts

i dont

i
sit silent

still atremble
caught short-sheeted
in the lies of her embrace


that day i said
"you never loved me bitch"
i learned the meaning of blunt teeth
on thigh
fists in hair
her deafness to my cries
like a housewife's shrieks
forgotten

she beat me
she loved me
she beat me

her words flowed staccato
creative uninterrupted
strawberry blonde barbs that
flourished like the red roses
she'd bring me
often


my pain
purged colorless like
shadows of steel
passed forgotten like
unwritten impulse

that memory
i carry strapped to my hip
a sidearm continually loaded and fired
at the wrong times
familiar as everyone's Valhalla
yet always leading me back
to the same place

but when she broke that mirror
tore books or spat words
and the air raged electric
from her face

my stone face met cement
and i never saw a bruise
never heard the child within crying
to feel the defiant scratch
of pen on paper
against denial

yet she writes
when it hurts

when she smacks words against fact

people listen

mine breed silence
aborted pre-poems strangled
like my trust in her caress
like an unwritten impulse

held within

© 1987 Julie Murphy
Published inOff Our Backs, February 1987.

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