Terrible Questions
Early Sunday morning,
she rides the subway, alone.
A barely legal face peeks,
through dark straight
bangs.
Blue eyes dart, anxious.
Beige blazer buttoned shut,
pleated skirt wrapped
close,
bare legs tucked tight to the bench.
High heels poised,
ready to spring.
A dude parks beside her,
I-Pod thumping,
she stiffens, hugs her proper bag
tight.
He feels her withdraw,
half
glances, shrugs, scoots away.
Her
stop announced,
she starts and leaps to her feet,
rigid pose broken.
She warily scans the platform,
then scurries away like a worried mouse.
Joan Huffman©06/15/2005
2006 Mad Poet's Review
I Once Was A Victim
Once
a battered girl,
beaten with beatitudes and a belt,
trodden like thyme between hard rocks.
Once a bludgeoned wife,
threatened with words and weapons,
branded like chattel upon bruised flanks.
Once a bashful student,
filled with humility and hope,
infused like vodka over fleshy fruits.
Education, errors, and experience;
trials, time, and finally trust.
Then a blossoming woman,
sweetened with kisses and caresses,
softened like chocolate in hot hands.
Now a burgeoning surgeon,
endowed with power and pride,
hardened like steel in fiery forges.
And no longer victim: now cherished lover,
empathic caregiver and truth-speaker.
Joan Huffman©08/02/2009
Poets
Online: In Response to July 2009 Prompt: "This Was Once a Love Poem" by Jane Hirschfield
