In that din of dining,
a constant presence
in the unserved table
was moving silence.
Everyone talked about
gnawing pain in hushed voice
with such compulsion,
when he found his pain
following each foot step
without even letting him know,

To the boy from seventh grade,

I don’t know if you remember…
grabbing me,
and touching me,
and running your hands along my hips.
or maybe how you whispered for me to,
BE QUIET ,
while all the reasons I wasn’t beautiful dripped
like slurred poison from your lips.
“Emma you are fat.”
“Emma you are ugly.”
“Emma you are flat.”
“Emma how could anyone even look at you?”

I stood there silent,
feeling the increasing weight of my bones
press into my shoes.
The unfortunate optimism of the Suffield public school system
taught all about the dangers,
of men with candy in white vans,
but failed to arm us against the boys
who we grew up on the playground with.

I was twelve.
I think parts of me broke in all the places they were supposed to be growing.
I haven’t been back to that english class.
I am too afraid my pieces are still littered across the blue tile,
too scared I might run into some fragmented composition of the eyes,
of the girl I was before room 221.
I don’t think she would be very proud of me.

It’s been years.
I should really get over it right?
I’m sure you never had trouble sleeping
all the nights I lied awake because
I could still feel you,
and hear you.
My head, a broken record,
you were the only track that played at that hour.
BE QUIET.
You’ve probably indulged in your ability to forget
the way my pleading voice fractured,
“Stop it please.”  

I don’t think boys like you understand what happens
to the words you breathe into us
at times when you are holding onto us.
Those words,
They echoed through the empty chasms that burned through me,
at everyplace you ran your fingers,
in slow circles across my skin.
They spun themselves through my ribs
until they were bound so tightly,
I stopped feeling my own heart beat.
So constricted in its’ cage,
like an newly captive animal it soon tired itself of screaming for its release,
and just lied down.

BE QUIET.
Words that I remembered with many boys after you.
BE QUIET when he tells you you have beautiful “******* eyes.”
BE QUIET when he tells you your “No.” has made you “useless.”
BE QUIET when he raises his hand and tells you to sit  
before he brings it down across your face.
Emma, cry quietly when you realize
they only see beauty in the things they can take from you.

And I let them,
and watched as the fabric of my skin
frayed under my fingernails.
I’ve found myself one to many times
trying to scrub the blood left remnant, from my unwinding
out from underneath them.

I am done.
It’s time for me to take myself back.
I am going to make the shreds that you left at my feet
far more beautiful than anything you took from me,
and this time,
I’m going to hold on.

I never want my little sister to be told to BE QUIET.
I will not BE QUIET anymore.
I will not BE QUIET because I will not let these eyes be reduced
to the way they look when I am on my knees
or the way these hips curve when they are underneath your hands.
I will not BE QUIET because there are other girls who are scared
in classrooms and dimly lit street corners.
I will not BE QUIET because this noise is powerful.
I will not BE QUIET because if your voice created echoes
mine will create earthquakes.
I will not BE QUIET because I am lucky that you never got the chance
to do anything more to me
because I have held the shaking hands of a girl ***** in a closet,
while she told me she doesn't want to live anymore.
I will not BE QUIET because there are millions of stories like her’s.
millions of girls who are silenced with justice left unserved.
Having a voice is a privilege,
hard fought and deserved.

Dear boy from seventh grade,
be prepared to face the noise.
I will not BE QUIET anymore.

She killed my brother, so I'll **** her
O what a glorious, glorious ******

There was no evidence, but still
Her burning guilt is all I feel

My brother was all I ever knew
But still she stabbed him through and through

The ****** sight made police unnerved
And thus justice was left unserved

Their fault, I take it in my hand
To be the hero of the land

I sharpen the knife, hide it away
And await her arrival on a warm summer's day

She comes-acting cheery- how can she be so?
How can she act merry and be all aglow?

I hate her more, where is her guilt?
Where is the shame on this pile of filth?

Is she glad to be rid of my poor deceased brother?
O he that loved her with love like no other?

He that trusted and gave her all kisses?
How dare she **** him! How can she not miss him?

She talks, and a fake tear appears
All that I give her is anger and lears

She looks so confused and steps towards the door
As I move my hand to inside the drawer

The knife, shining- ******!- slides into her chest
Twice to the right, and one in her left

She falls to the ground, reaching for me
Oh, what a sight, a sight what to see!

My brother avenged! Justice was given
But now the knife must be put back and hidden

The body be covered and buried with care
My innocence perfect when police come to there

They found her body, still I don't fret
For I am as harmless as harmless can get

The police came to interview, just to do that
So calmly I sit, and happy they sat

Questions? I give them a most solid alibi
And serving them tea to satisfy

I stand to prepare it, and keep with the talk
And hand cups to them with a small cough

One gets up and looks for a spoon
And, forgetful, I point him to my doom

For he opens the drawer and he looks right at me
He holds up a knife for all to see

The dried blood streaks are only proof made
O fateful, O cursѐd, O severing blade

They lock me up tight, I spit at them, hiss
I'm innocent! Innocent as innocent gets!

I killed her because she killed my brother
I served justice more than any other!

They shook their heads and show me a note
Before he died was what he wrote

“But he was thrice stabbed, is this a lie?”
“Yes it was,” police say, “Suicide.”

I do not believe them, they are insane
My brother, and sister, did not die in vain!

Because she killed my brother, and I killed her
And I am NOT guilty of senseless ******

For the time gone we pine
To once there be back again
Drink that plane’s nectarous wine
Under the sky of powdered rain!

Still isn’t ripe under blackberry tree
The child’s innocence its dreams starry
Lies there dormant the unserved need
In morning dew buried in ****!

Where has gone that lived in space
Shining bright in summers’ recess
The doleful noons in imagined voyage
On painted seas sans anchorage!

Why it’s so we live in past
With it obsessed in longing lust
The mind of now feels painful numb
Present seems void yawning vacuum!

A decorative chair
(where no one's ever sat) stands
in a decorative room
(where no one ever goes) in a homely
half mansion
(on the main floor, just left of the front door)
and thinks to himself
all day, every day,
that his purpose in this world is
as of yet unserved
having never once provided rest
for the weary legged
and wishes to himself
once, or twice a day,
to hear a little ditty
from the decorative piano
(dust upon the keys no one ever learned to play)