the ones we stole from

they say
it takes a voyage
to see all faces
of our sun.

i have been on twelve
such journeys: five
summers i have spent
washing these white walls

till they shone like
limestone cliffs that brood
by sea-green waves that dance
without end as if like sirens

calling out to their walls, who sit
as stony as the walls i scrub. the walls
stare on, deadpan, when she pushes
blood red daggers through the hide

of my battered will,
again, till its cries
fade to pitiful whimpers.
these walls say nothing

as he takes my body
again before them,
his cries for pleasure,
mine silent for loathing.


my walls weep
as i wash over them now
with all the might i am able
to draw on from yesterday’s

unconsumed meals. perhaps i
remind them of the metal ruins of
the old pier rusty brown from its
wrestles with brackish licks from the sea.