BLOOD STAINED CLAWS

My mind is like a huge canvas,
Ripped
And fluttering in the breeze.
How, can I mother a child.
And not pass on my inherent suspicion,
towards men.
How, can I trust the child I have mothered,
With her uncle, cousin or my friend.
I cower in the face of lust,
Streaked with strains of disrespect and hatred.
Strains that like dormant rabies,
To surface,
As irreversible action.
How, can I mother a child,
And she not feel this deep distrust.
This unease,
Towards a probable perverted mind,
Lurking in a smile,
In an ugly touch,
In an ugly thought.
How can I mother a child
And not want to protect her,
To shield her,
From a scheming distorted mind.
How can I mother a child,
With my overbearing fears, creeping into actions.
And still assure her a free, innocent life.
Seeing the silent anguish in my eyes,
How can she laugh with abandon,
How can she frolic with fun,
How can she grow and be a gift to heal.
I do not know.
And should a smelly, contorted face,
Say unheard words to her.
rough calloused fingers,
Mar her innocence,
With an ugly probe.
How then shall I respond.
Should I want to
Swipe him into oblivion,
I shall be stigmatized a murderer.
but that will hardly
return the cheerful giggle to my girls face.
It will hardly dim the memory
Of a betrayed trust.
How then should I respond.
I do not know.

-written on-
26th February '03
10.10. a.m