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I Used To Love Making Things Out Of Clay
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The Letters We slip through the forest,
like quiet soldiers who
outsmart the enemy
You teach me to walk like an Indian,
and matter of factly I am proud to
have Cherokee roots
I am a child at childhoods end
Because you will teach me things that
a young girl ought not to know
When you slide your hand
down into a place unaware
The forest seems to darken and
the spirits of the South begin to stir
We are of the same blood,
and what you have done cannot be
taken back
It resurrects itself
and I wish that you had been violent,
drowned me in the creek
Because that is where I last was,
making you a bowl out of clay when
you decided to ruin my life
saying,
how you had always wanted me
then
kissed me like a lover and
forced this wreckage upon me
A child at childhood's end
I used to Love making things out of clay.
What a haunting poem. And what an unfortunate expierence or so it seems. Like your directness.
Maybe like the river it could be so much water under the bridge, given time.
http://www.postpoems.org/authours/a.griffiths57
Wow i have read a lot or
Wow i have read a lot or pieces on molestation and incest and was one of the most powerful pieces I have read. Heartbreaking, and i love how u say I wish u had been violent bc it makes more sense than a family member touching us like lovers....amazing! If this is based on a personal experience the truth will set u free and get the help u need...xxooxxx Jess