Witness
When I again consider that we are mostly born
alone, sans bard and sans biographer. As they say,
we seek a witness to our life; a some-body
to avow, "I saw him." Or, "I knew Him",
or her, or them. She might think
about the smell of my sweat, I imagine, and maybe
grimace; but then witness to the scent
of my shampoo instead of the smell of
the bathroom after my shame.
But my father's voice bursts in, always
there in my head, somewhere, "You are...
weak!" He sneers. Once he saw me talking
to a brown skinned child, and
he says, "Brown skinned", like it's something disgusting.
Drunken brother jumps from my father's pocket then
speaking only to me, "You knocked him down, but you didn't
hit him! I told you to hit him. You SISSY.
Go in the house and put on a dress".
Put on a dress. Put on a dress.
I always cringe hard for the
ghost family lives in my head,
"Witnesses for the prosecution",
I remind myself, to stay grounded.
About this poem
Another series of memories expressed as poetry. You'll find I tried to explain the cognitive effects of dark memories simultaneous with the substance of those memories. In real time such memories can make a person pause in the middle of a sentence. The heart of PTSD.
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"Witness" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 12 Dec. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/204040/witness>.
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