Shelly
It thrusts deep between her breasts
And ties a knot where a child used to be.
Bringing forth tears that can’t run along
Salted, broken cheeks,
From fists always clenched against those
Who come to care, care, and care.
♞♜♝
Shapeless figures stand before her and accuse.
They point at emptiness and laugh
With contorted features her head plummets
To the ground and bloody confusion
Her face crushed again, again, and again.
♞♜♝
Beneath a floor of concrete memories
She emerges through a crack, a green stem,
Flowering in all directions.
No fists clenched now, but light open fingers
That untie the knot where a child comes to be.
⏩ Frankie Quinn is a former republican prisoner who is now a community activist. He is the author of Open Gates, a book of poetry.
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