Survivor

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Up here, at this height, Felicia saw the world perfectly, everything was clear.
Up here, there wasn’t a thing Felicia couldn’t do.
Her artwork covered the walls, her journals were packed with poems.

Down there, her mind went all muddy as if she were a fish swimming in flood water.
The air became thin. Noises grew louder. Her skin felt too small, itchy.
She slid along the wall when men passed by. Ran if one moved behind her.
Women? No better.

Today the scars on her back feel swollen and raw.
Each man is her father, every woman her mom.

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Chain of Fools

June watched her boys tumble across the yard like puppies. Not one of them was right in the head – she knew it for a fact. Nasty old Mable didn’t need to tell her. No she did not. Clem: Ten – can’t count to one. Joe-Bob: Nine – forgets his own name. Stew: Eight – if a tree toppled, he’d just let it fall and squash him dead. It’s their daddy’s fault. Knocked each one in the head when they were little babies. But Daddy’s gone. June saw to that. Shot him. Threw him in the sea. Now she’s left with a black-haired chain of fools. She loves each link.

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