A dear friend who understands the incest and sexual harassment themes of Horseshoes and Hand Grenades is allowing me to publish her original poem here on my blog. <3
Portrait
My brother lifts the blanket off my feet.
His fingers climb my inner thighs.
I am eight. He tells me to be quiet.
I flatten myself against the ceiling.
I see my eyes are shut, that I hold my arms
tight to my sides. His hands pry open
what I want to keep closed. He breathes
like our dog in summer. I will not cry.
.
