POWERLESS

On top of me, she was, bigger than any child, drunk, beating me with a belt, her strong hands that had worked the fields, the tamarind branch that she forced me to smell first, and then scarred my skin. Some of the marks are still there on my legs and back, reminding me that I was defenseless; coming back when faced to make decisions -"should I get rid of the books, my clothes, paintings, the gifts from friends, old photos, letters, my manuscripts": how powerless I can feel when facing others; and then, my voice inside waits to scream again, but can't.