Safe House

Poetry by Sara Gannon

When their words slit your throat,
do not reply.
With arms wide open,
let them use your blood as war paint.
Decorate their bodies red.
When the crimson covers their limbs in jagged lines,
let your body be the sand paper that smooths their sharp edges.

When they scream at you until it shakes your bones,
do not run away.
Turn your body into a safe house,
an empty shell where they can reside.
Strip the walls of paint and break every window.
When the glass tears their skin,
be the one to heal their wounds.

When they hit you with bruised knuckles,
do not fight back.
Grit your teeth and bite your tongue.
Help them shatter your bones.
When their limbs become limp
let your body wrap around theirs,
teach them to walk again.
Lift their legs
one by one,
lead them home.

About Sara Gannon 284 Articles

Sara Gannon is an editor for the Blackbird Review and a member of Science Olympiad. She enjoys playing volleyball in her free time.