A family can survive major pruning.The loss of parent, grandparent, child.However, a family tree can’t survive without its bark. The stripping away of my childhood’s outer layer.The intentional toughing up routines backfired,thinning the skin until raw and every word or touchburned like a bare light socketsunk into my exposed muscle and sinew. Skinned alive, exposed, …

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Angel in bright white night gownSoiled, smudged from your earthly visit,Trapped in the trauma of a little boyRaped by his mother’s man. You can’t unsee, that dirt, that stain,It doesn’t come clean, the bile Of man’s defiling greedy hands Shoveling himself inside a little boy.  © SB Joy

The club house is empty. The desperate voices silent in the jukebox. No clank from a cueball. My parts are on strike. Practicing social distancing, each has decided to stay  home and watch reruns – Leave It To Beaver, Father Knows Best, Road Runner, Gilligan’s Island, Julie Childs, the Galloping Gourmet, Mr. Ed, followed by …

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How is it I was terrified as a child and no one took notice? Mostly likely it was because those in charge of noticing were the monsters under the bed. They were the conundrum. Without them I would die, with them I may die. A child stuck in mid-air, weightless, unattached and discombobulated. What to …

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I have a hard time telling differences.Like the difference betweena crumb or a loaf. A feast or morsel.  I’ve fallen for the same trick since birth.A sleight of hand and a hopeful imagination itching to pull a loaf out of a crumb? You see, what’s obvious to you isn’t to me.I was taught a loaf for …

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