driving in the dark

the light blinded my eyelashes as i walked down--

making the dark black ends

extemporaneously white.

my feet kept marching,

each one

a bit lower than the other.

with every step,

the light splashed more in every direction,

parallel, limitless lines moving behind me,

until i fell out of their plane and

it became dark.

--

we sat silently in the car today,

until his hand rubbed my shoulder,

as he told me that rape would always happen-

no matter what i do.

long exhale or loud sigh

with eyes squeezed shut.

how helpful of you to point out, dad.

--

their shouts echo through my sleep, you know,

the words haunted my dreams with an unbearable reality

in the free time in between ferocious tears and a letter to the editor.

i made my face public. i spoke-

about misogyny and hate speech

and free speech and rape and anger and let's make this

better and

group mentality is really

hard so let's

not blame the voices.

language, we said,

is difficult.

--

i'm tired now.

exhausted, rather.

out of words.

and even though my mouth goes on speaking,

and my eyes go on blinking,

and my hands go on shaking,

i'm stuck here;

stuck in this locomotive, automatic, reactive

vehicle.

(the temporary displacement

of fury and mourning

did not disappear

because it's the day after

the yesterday

of my nightmare.)

instead of an engine fueling my steps with

anger,

i feel docile and empty,

out of gas.

i'm lost in this darkness,

unsure of my sadness,

or next step,

looking for one that goes up.

dls