I’ve Stopped Believing in Comicbook Heroes
At five, my father raped
Me, who slaved for A’s.
I forfeited my allowance.
At fifteen, my mother insisted
Her boyfriends could touch here plus
There, as much as they wanted.
At twenty-five, graduate school’s deprivations
Seemed like musical interludes, except
For those included, enacted prejudices.
At thirty-five, a condemned colleague punished
Thinkers. Tinkering with the ‘ol boys’ system
Brought certain misery, also dismissal.
At forty-five, a truck crushed
My friend's child and my understanding
That life could grow beyond landed priorities.
I’ve stopped believing;
Comicbook heroes are only pulp; hope’s a fiction.
Courage comes from walking, anyway, on broken stones.
Motivation: A long as women allow others to define their realities, women remain unempowered. Accordingly, I write about women's bodies, women's personal experiences and women's social experiences.
I have not had all of the truamas about which I write, but I have felt much passion about such events. Once,an undergraduate student came to me to discuss the rape she had suffered from her roommate's boyfriend. Another time, a neighbor came to me to share the battering she had undergone, moments earlier, at the hands of her husband. I've seen doctors reduce women, via synecdoche and have witnessed women deeply brutalized by war.
Words can bring light to dakness. Light, alone, can thwart the worst of human evil. Although this poem seems to be about despair, it is equally about resilence.
BIO: KJ Hannah Greenberg and her hibernaculum of imaginary hedgehogs roam the verbal hinterlands. Sylvan creatures to a one, they fashion verse from leaves, shiny bugs and marshmallow fluff.