SYLVIA                                        (HOUR 1, 6am Poetry Marathon 2020)

 

Her family didn’t know

what to make of her.  They wanted

her to shut up, stop talking about

what went on in that two-story house – the

 

stifling, the screaming, the belt descending,

the shutting down, out; the endless

you aren’t doing whatever you’re told.

The sniping.  Lies. Mum’s. Da’s. The hands,

 

always the hands in the wrong spot.

The shoulder, the waist.  Lower, not

to be mentioned.  Not even

here – on the blank page – god no,

 

not even there.  Shut up, put your fingers

in your ears.  Mum’s the word.  Hers.

Should be yours.  Make yourself smaller,

shrink your eyes, your heart, go away.

 

Don’t try to make him, her stop.

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