Re-Telling
For Annie, Grace, Jenny, and many others
By Damian Robin
She answers questions that her mind wants to distort,
The audience hears from her past where pain holds court,
Absorbed into her city, burning to the ground,
The flame’s not reached them yet– just smoke that has no sound:
This, her deep place, this her baptism of boils
Curling from a cooking pot where torture toils;
And she must live it through, remain there to its end –
She sees the crowd is poor, must give them this, not bend.
She pays them with her body’s ice, she’s nothing else.
They need to have, and this is it, her mismatched wealth.
These visions pierce the hall and anguish breaks her breath
But she must keep alive experience near death.
Once more she shares her gifts, truths given free of thought,
For their hearts need to know, and this is all she’s brought.