November 24, 2011 § Leave a comment

Written in October 2008.

I don’t worry when she yells
same old refrain
get off me motherfuckers!
little lioness restrained
while the water fountain screeches
and twists from the wall, tortured metal
victim of her frustrations

and I know
if I let go
despite her claims of safety, innocence
she’ll whirl
rabbit-punch me
so I hold on and wait
for help–

eight by eight by twelve
concrete, tile, metal, empty box
and I’m on the floor and all I can smell is
fury, panic, sweat
her shouts are screams now
we took her shoes, her socks–
don’t want to see her face turn ugly purple
and black from the cloth she
rips, ties, strangles
–not again.
but she is crying, screaming
tiny frame lurching
bucking me nearly off her legs and
there are four of us trying to keep her–
succeeding in keeping her–
restrained, prone
the screams
the frozen tile
and sterility of

I don’t worry when she yells.
It’s when she screams
and cries
that I know we’ve lost her
to her past

and her mind is gone.
the lioness is a hyperventilating hare-child now
lost in flashbacks
and I hate
abhor that we have to continue
pinning her
because if we let go
her foot will slam into our bodies
or she will
clamp her teeth into our backs/arms/anything
or she will run
into fourty-mile-an-hour traffic again
and sit down
in the dark–

so we remain.

pain howls through the room
pierces eardrums
splinters off the walls into diamond shards
as impossible to repair
as her Self.

she stops screaming.
and lurching, and fighting
it’s just the wide-eyed rabbit-panting now
slowing to

she is numb
but I can still feel the echo
of those shards.

when we leave, she remains as she was in the restraint
arms still at her sides
staring into hell.


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