by Sister Lou Ella Hickman
the secret she shared: the invisible child speaks
you did not yank out my heart
whole, throbbing
wet with life
where it dripped
on the altar of your blame and anger
no all you used was a small hook
to draw out thread by scarlet thread
like a woman who quietly crochets
then you put it in your sewing basket
to hide in a cabinet . . .
then you locked the door of my strangled emptiness
that became a dark and forbidden space
in honor of all human sex trafficking victims: hope
after all my efforts to find words for this poem
had collapsed
i discovered there are no words worthy
to speak of and for you
of your costly pain and soul death
clichés like evil hell darkness despair
fail you
and words fail as well to speak of my own smallness
yet
this is the hope i breathe for each of you—
the only one i can give
are the small acts the small possibles
of what i can do each day
and
perhaps one of them
could be the key to set you free