Stop the abuse, Start the healing
Poetry of Val Stepanchuk
They don't put capitals on Tree or Sun
or Flower or Sky
If they don't get capitals,
then neither do i.
Sunset Sweet II
How could they?
How could they spit on the green grass? How could they fill the beautiful mauve and turquoise sky with their filthy orange poison?
Why do I even have to ask?
They do it the same way they ram their penises down the throat of a three-month old child and rip it. And kill it.
The way they raped my friends and my grandmother.
The way they raped my sister.
The way they almost raped my other sister and mother.
They way six can be dominated by one.
The way they kill one woman in Canada every two days.
The trees cradle me.
There are mountains floating in the mauve and turquoise sky tonight.
My eye catches behind me, the faintest sliver of moon.
I swam in life this morning.
Water is life.
And how can this sunset sweet shine on me and also shine on the neighbour who punches his wife in the face and would beat up my tiny-boned son?
I want him to be denied.
The universe seems so vast to me and men are destroying her.
Because she is defenseless, passive. That is how.
And I know to find blame after the fact is wasted energy.
But we must find blame when the crimes are ongoing as blame is cause. Root.
Perhaps we need to cut the roots.
Copyright © Val Stepanchuk
Sunset Sweet II
I know I said that perhaps we should cut the roots.
I also know that when we find them,
The wimmin would wash off the pain
the hatred, the roughness, the rage,
the need for dominance, masks, hard shells.
They would wash off
abuse taken and given, old criticisms.
They would salve-on nurturance
and tenderness, encouragement, love, equality,
compliments, healing female energies.
They did it to me.
But, you have to let them.
Please note that all poetry on this page is Copyright © by Val Stepanchuk
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