I came to you, when I was 14,
And I said "He hit me." in a voice made hoarse by injury.
You'd always said that you would leave any man
Who ever laid a finger on your daughters, causing harm.

And in the language of the mind, you wrote:

Explanations.
Family counseling.

And in the language of the heart, you etched upon my soul:

Lies.
Betrayal.
Speaking out is not the answer,
No matter what the promise is that has been made -
It will mean nothing.

In the end, it was I you said could leave.
At 14.
From the only home I'd known,
Since I had left behind,
By my own strength,
The last man you had left me to:
The remnant of your second failed marriage,
To whom you'd left us all -
Your girls, whom you'd professed to love
Much more than any man.
For what?
I used to hope that *you*, at least, were happy.
We were not.

---

I came to you, when I was ending 15 years,
And marking that with you,
And I said "I'm not a virgin", in a voice made hoarse with shame.

And you laughed and said "Is that all?"
You were relieved,
Glad that all my terror and distress
Did not mean I was pregnant,
As you'd feared, and asked.

I knew the law,
That said that even when I told you,
I was far too young -
And by some years,
For those who owned the blame
For this revealed truth.

So, in the language of the mind, you wrote:

I respect you,
And your freedom - at this childish age -
To do things of adulthood - regardless of with whom, or how, or why,
Or of the law,
Which calls such acts abuse at best, assault at worse -
Don't tell me more;
I do not want to know.
It is your life.

And in the language of the heart, I took you at your word:

Don't bother me.
Don't tell me things that might mean I must act,
And worse yet,
Take the role of parent -
Which I seek to yield to you,
Together with our taxes,
And the surveys on the phone.
Don't make me know the hidden truths
Which lie behind a veil of nothing more
Than my own wish not to see.
Whatever happens,
It was not my fault!
You are adult (at 14),
And independent (at fourTEEN??),
And have been all these years -
No matter how long that may be -
Note how carefully
I do not ask you when this truth arose -
Or how.
The rights of those who did this are far above the law -
Seek no help there.

I watched my step-father,
An old Boy Scout,
Whittle backward towards himself,
With a dull knife,
To predictable results -
For that we sought a doctor.
At least by that I knew that his implacability was shaken.

For me there was no doctor -
Not for this.
That way lay far too many questions,
About which you've made it your main business
Not to think.

You asked me nothing.
You changed the subject.
Life went on.
Unchanged.

---

When is a crime not a crime?
When it's your duty to report it -
And you don't.

Then nothing happens,
No one acts,
And nothing of the dangerous truth
Leaks through the walls you've built
Inside and out -
To which you've sacrificed your children
On the altar
Of your sacred right
To lack of knowledge.

You are certain
You belong in Eden;
And you will not touch that fruit,
Lest you be kicked out
Into the cold black loneliness
In which we,
Your daughters,
All grew up -
Thanks to you.

It was not we who made the choice
That lay behind all this,
It was not we who chose
The man who hurt us first and foremost -
It was you.

---

---

And in the end, I have to ask myself - do I mind?
Do I matter?
And what answers is my heart,
Filigreed with wounds
Etched deep by words of yours,
And it utters beauty,
Made,
Somehow,
From that pain.

The pain is yours, put there by your words,
And so in words I lay it at your feet,
To leave it there.

The beauty I will keep -
It is my own creation.