top of page


Wendy Jensen

I accelerate onto the freeway

trees flashing by

and my assured solitude tickles awake a memory.

An unbidden flicker

quiet as snow on sand.

A piece of my child self

hidden by adult skin.

That piece forbids movement

leaving me as if

dead inside.

She whispers

close my eyes

turn off the switch to my ears

numb my skin

shutter my brain

stay alive.

Don't feel

because therein lies danger

the possibility of bursting out into the world

curtains opening

flooding me with sights

and sounds

and worst of all

remembered sensations.

I hold tightly to the wheel

carefully follow the painted lines

while the terror of his touch

floods back into my bones