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Making
Friends
With Money Workshop
Monday 9/15 & 9/22
Issue
Ten: Free Write
Scintillations
The Beach
Remembering
You
Julie Day
Current Events
Sex And The Country
Stirring Up The Dust
Letter to My Younger Self
More
Letters To
Younger Selves
Moody Girl
Photography
Cover:
Box of Skeletons
Hello
Pipe
Hive
Clouds
Pegasus
In Ireland
Subway
Guy
Poetry
Spring
A
Lesson In Wholeness
A
Child's Light
The
House That He Built
Summer
Night
Contributors
Readers'
Comments
Websites
We Like
Workshops
Play With Your Words
Making
Friends With Money
Future Issues
Issue Eleven: Play
Issue Twelve: Synchronicity
This
is the man
Who married the girl
Who had two sons
One raped his brother
And they all lived in the house that the man built
And he is the same man
Who knowingly, intimately violated one son
And ignored the cries
Of his eight year old boy
In the house that he built
Still his are the eyes
That invaded the privacy
And pried into the souls
Of his chosen many
Spanning all genders and generations
In the house that he built
And his is the nose that
Sniffed us out of
Safe spaces we hid in
To hide from the behavioral stench
That clouded the house that he built
His is the mouth that
Deliberately uttered the thoughtless words
Causing shame and denial
That broke all of the spirits
In the house that he built
His are the ears
Like merciless radar
That listened for sounds
Of those that might catch him
Doing the invasive things
In the house that he built
Meaty are his hands
That touched the bodies
Of the family and friends whose cries
And pain were unspoken from fear
In the house that he built
And his is the face
I will forever see
When I think of the ache
His prey survived
In the wake of the fall
Of the house that he built!
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