breaking bottles: on a day at the faire
a twenty dollar bill handed to me with instructions
keep breaking them until this is spent
you must break them
with intent
you must make noise when you break them
waiting in line with my brothers and my beloved teacher
opening the box I keep it in
easier than I thought it would be
taking it out and holding it
too easy…
I choose a white plate,
perfect for holding the food I did not want to eat
“Smiles “written in black on the smooth clean surface
for the smiles my mother wanted, for her unease with my
sorrow
for the lessons in hiding anything that makes others
uncomfortable
I scream as I throw it against the concrete wall,
my voice is forced, awkward, so too is the action
no power from a body unaccustomed to such an overt act
next is an artifact from childhood
my brother used to collect the round glass insulators
my father would bring home
from working on the telephone lines
that irony informed my sense of humor
the man who taught me silence
belonged to the Communications Workers Local
“Silence” written upon it
it takes three tries to break it
each time I scream,
it robs me of strength
too much effort towards sound that only draws attention
does not accomplish anything
words have power
written in black on objects to be destroyed
for the silence of his anger
three days of not being seen
for the way he taught me to keep silence
for the lessons in not showing what you feel
for the silence they wanted instead of truth
no one in my family tells stories
no one writes poetry
but we all keep secrets
I gave up screaming
and my body discovered strength and power
and how to put my weight behind the action
the bottles flying
in a graceful arch, like the crest of a wave
crashing upon the beach
shattering into pieces against a wall as hard as my heart
with a sound like the bomb inside me exploding
destroying that
which was written upon it in black letters
“Compliance” for the years I gave away
for the lies I told to keep their peace
for the fights I never fought
for delivering my power into the hands of others
“Fear” for the chances I never took
for all the times I stayed timid and small
to make everyone feel safe but me
“Doubt” for the way I learned not to trust anyone
especially not my own mind, or heart, or magick
“Secrets” for the things we don’t talk about…
“Shame” for depression
for submission
for desire
“Good Girl” for never being one
for wishing I could be
for never being called one
for wishing someone would…
just once
“Expectations” for never really knowing what they are
for never being able to meet them
for always trying to anyway
for failing every time
“Ice Princess” for every blind and stupid idiot
who ever looked at me
and decided that was what I am
and for every time I believed them
"Unworthy” for the
dreams that I still have
that tell me I have been judged
that I can never
be good enough
to be loved
the last bottle in pieces
putting it back in the box where I keep it
is not so easy…
