THOUGHTS TO INK

My thoughts change to ink for I choose to write and not think.

Today I think of Jean;

To be Jean at 6 was to have joyful mischief dance in her eyes

While a blend of happiness and sadness dance in her mother’s

It was to hear the crash of a vase and have her mother’s fear projected to her face

It was to watch three wavy lines stream from left to right

Until they became straight and panic filled the place

It was to see peace on her mother face in rectangular box, in a rectangular hole, sealed and covered.

To be Jean at 16 was to sit in a corner, knees bent to head

Knowing what was behind but not what was ahead

Together with 40 others in a metal shipping container

Packed, sealed and sold to her new owner and jailers

It was to be battered, bruised and used

Until she was no more than a homeless man shoes

It was to stand with fake lips, face and body

And enjoy rape, just like a biology specimen likes being studied

To be jean now is to question the creator

It is wonder her inclusion in creation

It is to be Egyptian and drown in her own red sea.