A Theory Of Violence

By Jennifer Perrine

—after New Delhi, after Steubenville

Under the surface of this winter lake,
I can still hear him say you’re on thin ice
now, my heel grabbed, dragged into the opaque
murk of moments—woman raped on a bus;

girl plunged into oblivion, taken
on a tour of coaches’ homes, local bars,
backseats of cars, the sour godforsaken
expression on each classmate’s face; the dark,

the common route home, faint footfalls behind.
How many times have I bloodied my fist
against this frozen expanse to remind
myself there is another side, hope-kissed,

full of breath? I howl. The water begs, drown,
its hand pressing tight, muffling every sound.

Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad

Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad x
Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad
LEVEL UP!
Drop your email and we'll send you 25 poetry editing guidelines to help transform your creative writing!
Send It!
LEVEL UP!
Drop your email and we'll send you 25 poetry editing guidelines to help transform your creative writing!
Send It!
Subscribe To: State Of The Arts Magazine
Privacy Policy: This information will never be shared with third parties.
Subscribe Now!
Subscribe To: State Of The Arts Magazine
Privacy Policy: This information will never be shared with third parties.
Subscribe Now!