Give Me a Vulture Any Day

~ On some things I am clear ~

‘The Wounded Deer’ Frida Kahlo

and I will not go quietly

I judge the murderer

I judge the rapist

I cannot

judge a woman

or a victim

who kills a tormentor.

The anguished know —

within shadows

agonies

cry

gems die

everyone hears

no one hears.

They know —

pain recedes

gathers force,

a great big bullock

rising from a swamp

then attacks,

but we

framed in outcast

doorways

we all stand

separated

like hairs

on a dried paintbrush.

We

bristle with

untraceable

lines of compassion

blurred

if not totally erased.