By William Laferriere
Here I lie Waste deep in a emotional trough Feelings turn to horror, fear, and anger Somehow resembling Edvard Munch’s monumental work “The Scream” But this flick has no denouement It may comprise a word or a sustained, high-pitched sound. It may build slowly, as a tectonic plate shifts It may slide forward, a Tsunami It may glide like Antarctica’s Lambert Glacier But it too shall come And I’ll scream for myself And all those of my sacred, scarred Community Breasts removed, our bodies torn asunder Is there value in our appearance? Can we be loved, nurtured, held intimately? Will someone always love us? But what is love? What is intimacy? How does it work? Who can be involved? Will someone ever hold me again, reach out and clasp my hand? I just want to scream
