rape isn't sex, it's a power play
when i was a little girl
and my mother was still a child
she let a man, a boy into her home
he needed a place to stay
he was harmless
except once, he stole her underwear
and told everyone he slept with her
i recounted this story to her
many years later
she was surprised i knew
but i was always
listening as a child
kneeling by her knee
and under her hands
i worshiped her
he wasn't harmless
and although he didn't hurt me as bad
as i've been hurt before
he hurt me
my mother, that night, she came home
to find him naked
and i was on the couch
when previously i was on the ground
between my brothers
breathing as children do
deep and undisturbed
'how did you get on the couch'
i shrugged
she was drunk and let it go
called all her friends and took a picture
to tell of this boy,
this nasty thing
it didn't hurt me until later
it wasn't noticeable until later
when i found out he had
been raping his sister
she was the same age as me
and there's a picture of us
five years old
sitting on a couch
looking old and sick
not happy
each others secret kept from the other
but still knowing
understanding the silence
years later
we would meet again
fifteen, a walk to the park, and the
secret was out and known
he was in jail
we were still hurt
fifteen, playing on the swings
daring each other to go higher
love the other any harder
as survivors
we were no longer secrets
and there was a fear in that
we stared into each others eyes
and acknowledged the reflection
and how could i not love myself if i chose to love her
we knew what we knew
and we never said it
out loud to the other
rape isn't sex, it's a power play
he hurt us
and you could hardly notice
the mark it left
unless you knew it was permanent
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