She-Karem I. Barratt


My dear friend Jasper Kerkau once described one of my poems as feeling like fireworks going off in a metal trashcan. This is fireworks going off in a metal trashcan. I am awed and humbled.

Singing Heart


female-warriors_00413201I am she,

Who screamed at the night,

Demanding justice for her blood,

Spilled by a knife,

Legs held by the mothers who

Were supposed to love her.

I am she,

Who held her baby tight,

As the bombs teared her world,

Walls falling down, her child

Of light, now the colour of earth.

I am she,

Looking the boys passing by,

On their way to school, laughter

And jokes echoing against her hut,

As she, alone, knowing she had been

Left behind.

I am she,

Crying in the corner, silently,

The shadow of his fingers still

Hanging around her arms, she

Trying to drink her tears, telling

Herself lies, for no one would

Believe her.

I am she.

Alone, unfed, hurt, turned

Into a shade, heavy with burdens

Beyond my age. I am she, seeing

My young face reflected in the eyes

Of those who shriek a name…

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