Mademoiselle
Perhaps I should explain what all these poems are about. I’m abstract in the wake of terrorism. Mind body and building.
I can’t make sense of the violence endured by citizens, families and their communities.
I can’t make sense of my own detour. I guess you could imagine it like a coma. 10 years out. You wake up to ringing, fast, bright technology, and men being men.
You wake up to your own lost body. You touch it. You flinch.
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Not even your own hands are interpreted as safe. Nothing in your hands looks its own color.
What is the point without color.
Hi….i need clothes, a job, a friend, a sense of love, and two scrunchies.
I’m Rachel. Middle name …. Something. Maybe I’ll find it and use it to reimagine myself.
Maybe she’ll be a fast learner.
