started scribbling this poem after beginning a monthly writing session at the wellspring living victory program, a home for girls who have been victims of sex trafficking, exploitation, and abuse. you can check out more info and support the work of wellspring living here: http://www.wellspringliving.org.
for the girls at wellspring
these women
have seen more storms before the age of 16 than I have known in all my years
these girls were forced to be women
responsibility and sexuality and violation forced down their throats and in between their legs
they had no silver spoon
were never spoon fed anything except miniscule amounts of love
one writes
of a dark alley
watching the ravaging of another girl
wishing for superheroes or God to save her
another writes
of her proud Latina heritage
the rhythm of her people dancing in the consonants of her poetry
another writes
of anger pent up, folded, rolled and stuffed
that now must be opened up, examined and freed
I feel inadequate
what do I have to teach these women?
I am a student in their classroom of how to survive
how to not let life beat you down
how to crucify and resurrect
I write and talk with them
a few are bubbly attention-getters
some are quietly ruminating
some listen to and watch me but refuse to talk or scribble
some sleep through the entire session
this is no ordinary classroom
I work with who I can
whisper silent blessings and gratitude over those who albeit quiet are here and alive to tell of it
words and stories
sit in the stomachs of women like these
crawl up their windpipe
tire, fatigue and then rest in the throat
eventually, the weary words make it to the tongue, to ink
and this is the day I hope for these precious ones
a place to be free and unedited
