You weren’t there
when I stood tall
in a scribbled note.

I was sixteen,
blushed naïve
with first love,
yet wise enough
for dignity.

Your “*** I’m
too busy to call”
worked for two
weeks, but intuition
spoke louder,
“He’s lying.”

With every bit of courage
a black Bic held in ink
I wrote…
          Dear Randy,
               If you don’t respond
               to this note, you’ll never
               hear from me again.
                                   Susie
The phone didn’t ring.
A letter never found
my mailbox.

As a heart does at sixteen
mine broke into a thousand tears.

I swam the river of shattering
until my spirit fell on the shore.

After being resuscitated from why,
I rose stronger, proud I trusted
the lighthouse within me and
not the tormentor who didn’t
care if I drowned.