Whitewashed, by Kimberly Peterson

I am not a silent poet

Mrs. Sechrist, wife of Jacob Sechrist, a farmer living a few miles north of this city, fell from a box upon which she was standing while engaged in white-washing the ceiling of a room, broke her neck and died. (Weekly Wisconsin: Milwaukee, Saturday, December 1, 1888)

 

She said:

Jacob, can you bring in a box from the barn,:
I need to whitewash the ceiling.

He said:

I only kicked the box.
Clearly, she decided to fall.

She said:

He was constantly hugging me, telling
me to wear tighter tops “to show off my
tits”. He reached his arm around me to stroked
my breast with his fingertips. When I recoiled,
he laughed. “Lighten up, its just a friendly hug.”

The CEO came into my office to introduce
a new Board member. That member grabbed
my shoulders and kissed me roughly. My boss
just laughed. I went to HR but…

View original post 299 more words

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