you wanted a harbor safely
harnessing you to the beach
the salt-air to sift through
your mouth like taffy – rejoicing
in the sand exfoliating
your dampened body

anchoring to a known
sunday with a song laden
with some holy scripture
that you can recite
to focus the pain into a hymn
sending it to god

the stillness comes & you
pretend the pounding
of bombs between your thighs
are waves / his eyes
become lighthouses beaming
ships away – too far to comprehend

you are as pretty as before
he ripped away your words
& forced them underneath
his shoe like roaches –
his hand smelling like bleach
trying to wash away your voice.

– John Compton