You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘pain’ category.
forget
forget the tall man with the hat
who comforted you
the one who walked you
bay trail, car rides, fish market every day
snuggled your black pelt against his frame.
when he called
you always came.
forget
his scent, his deep voice
and tender kiss, my little girl
forget, so the sting of his non-return is lost in your dreams
i am here now
to take over
step into his gigantic man shoes
walk you on familiar trails
see the world through his eyes
where he left us, not here but not forgotten
all the love he poured into you
i can reach out and touch
caress your coat, ease my own pain of the loss
and help you forget
the tall man with the hat who loved you.
Daniel Swetlik
1952-2018
Comfort women (ianfu) were young women, even girls, often tricked or kidnapped by the Japanese military during WWII. They were brought to what were called “comfort stations” and forced into prostitution to serve the soldiers. Most of these women came from Korea, China, Burma and other Japanese-occupied countries.
i am comfort to them
mad, frenzied soldiers
uniforms lined up out the door
and i will know them one by one
day and night
i break apart in myself until i cannot feel
the tortured hyena mouths tear at my chest
i cut myself into bits to blind myself from the horror
the shame
that this is a comfort to them
tricked away from my village
legs like sticks squatting in the dirt
playing pebble games with my brother
dirty knees and toothy grin so shy when they ask my name
so nice, they were so nice that day
until they brought me here
and ripped away the right to my own body
my fate
my sin for being a girl, a comfort to them
i shut my eye to the brutes, the hits and filthy hands
syringe of medicine for oozing infections
from the dirty doctor who i am forced to comfort too
there is no comfort to offer dead hearts enlisted in misery
and there is no tenderness for my own heart long ago flattened and left for dead
hibiscus flower cut
set on the hot sidewalk to shrivel in the scorching sun
burning, like my insides
so i will recess far inward to keep the truth from rising
endure this comfort station as a palace of hell
i shrivel like a pink blossom plucked from its vine
shrink to know that these blisters will brand my life forever
delicate petals, scarred and left to wither on the hot road
under a mean sun
that will never, ever set
This poem won 2nd place in the Great War to End All Wars contest and published in the commemorative edition of The Diploemat.
working girls by Sarah Curtiss – to see more of her art go to http://graceartgroup.com
northern lights would be beautiful
if they weren’t in my eyes
star spangled splatter strangling like probes
Open Gate!
open like soft white petals
creamy velvet pads
gently unfold and drain these spiked stars away
while i think of toes and limbs
resting pain free
in the middle of a lightening storm
Escaping Darkness by poet and artist, Karen Hartley
iwritemyself 