suddenly unsettled

when healing hands

touch

left side of

bare abdomen

images of stray cocks

and

cocked guns

fill my head

crowding out

other

more mundane

thoughts

unsure if these

moving pictures

that shrink me down

to size

belong to me

bear my childhood initials

buried memories

floating to the surface

from released fascia

or a montage

of every photo

every movie

i have ever seen

about exploited children

is it more reassuring

to think myself

merely suggestible?

breathing through it

I resist the overwhelming urge

to cover my vulnerability

with my hands

wait for pulse to slow

nausea to pass

glass jaw to unclench

betrayed again

by my own body

my own weak flesh

© 2018 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved