Eruption
by Barbara-Helen Hill

mountains erupt from inside my breast
dark jagged pain explodes
to meet the clear blue of my tears

sharp, razor,
cutting pieces of my flesh

your words
your hurts
you slash
across my face
across my back
my tears join together, flowing
ebbing towards my heart
to wash away the debris
to wash all poisons
from my gaping wounds
and yet

you stand before me
unashamed
you dare to look upon me
with no regard
for all you do
as you walk upon me
as if I were your slave
to be owned and done with
as you please

It is with contempt you
glance
and tread
and dance upon my breast
you tear
you rip
you shred
to leave a gaping wound
for which there is no mend
that you can ever fix

I leave you now
I will not trouble you again
I will be fine
without your greed
your hatred
your fear

I need you no longer
I no longer care
for your abuse

I will be okay
when you are gone.

© Barbara-Helen Hill, 1995
From her book Shaking the Rattle - Healing the Trauma of Colonization