Among small wet pebbles that outline the fury of sun,
there lie fragments of one thousand and one sea glass
their once glossy surface flat and dark with some having tell-tale
signs of blood,
I unsheathe myself and embrace vulnerability,
as eyes, filled with shadows, thumb through me like a manuscript
my heart
a broken paragraph where despotism is tried and embedded
into the skin,
a series of violet tears spread
promising that a day will come when we will cross the bridge,
fall hard or breathe harder
it’s so simple when you put it like that,
unaware that silence is all that’s left in the end, we cannot unlearn
the fresh taste of trepidation

nor forget words that were whispered into the ear,
but rise
get up from lying because a bridge is unbiased,
it has no preference whatsoever
you have created this burning need for insurgence to prevail
in society,
touching me is the wind as feeling sets fire into my throat
you took me unwillingly
now watch as the sky rewrites our tale and hits just the right note of equity.

Β 

Photo credits: Henry Asencio, 1972

Also written for Sherry’s prompt where she invites us to contemplate “The Handmaid’s Tale.” πŸ™‚

Posted for “Midweek Motif- Bridge” @ Poets United

& posted for “Wordy Thursday With Wild Woman” @ Real Toads

Also sharing on the Open Link Night @ dVerse Poets Pub