Cormelian by Sally Long

I am not a silent poet

He lashes me with his words.
He lashes me with his fists.
He lashes me with his feet.

I lug his granite boulders,
wrap my apron round them,
their heaviness oppresses me,
but there is nowhere to escape.

He lashes me with his words.
He lashes me with his fists.
He lashes me with his feet.

I wear the clothes he tells me,
keep the children quiet,
his behaviour depresses me,
but there is nowhere to escape.

He lashes me with his words.
He lashes me with his fists.
He lashes me with his feet.

He sleeps so I take my chance,
I pick up lighter greenstone,
quickly hide it in my apron,
but then my husband wakes.

He lashes me with his words.
He lashes me with his fists.
He lashes me with his feet.

He sleeps so I take my chance,
I pack a bag, call a cab,

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