Shall I Tell It?

I have a story to tell. I am angry. My daughter and I have been persecuted. Our Charter Rights as Canadian citizens were violated and this was never addressed by the Canadian government. We were supposed to disappear. We haven’t. I have been waiting, for ten long years and I am now ready to open my big mouth and holler it. Shall I?  If I do, then those within the Newfoundland Justice system and in Ottawa will have a lot of explaining to do. I may appear to be a small fish but I have teeth like a shark.

Off Kilter

Another day of living

off kilter

dangerously

courageously

counting the cracks as they appear

beneath our feet

tectonic shifting plate people

once upon every time

to run would lay all to waste

slipping further out

and down

into the startled eyes of some sham divinity

where we crawl along on words and razor blades

cutthroat angry lies

spires of weeds

we take the usual punches in the face

all puffy and rearranged

in truth and things that permeate

through thin skin and fear

we are the shout that lives

inside the hollow of a sigh

Auntie A and I

Waiting room stomach cramping

Dry lips and trembling hands hidden

Underneath a hospital green gown

Keeping modesty intact

But letting in the cold draft of the xray room

Mammogram for mama day

Breast sandwiched between icy steel slabs

Indifferent machinery radiation playing eye spy

Hide and seek with your tissue

Is it lurking here

Or there

Days pass

Phone rings

We need a closer look

It’s probably nothing, a handbook soothing phrase

Heart racing, it can’t be…no it’s not.  I won’t go there again this time

But you do

You see it again

A day from long ago

Auntie A showing Ma her mastectomy

You are ten and it’s a mystery

You ignore the order to stay in the kitchen with your innocence

Instead you rebel and sneak a peak in the crack in the bedroom and see hell

It’s a black hole where Auntie A’s right breast used to be

And the devils name is Cancer

And it is killing her

You hang up the phone in the present

Don’t say the word, you don’t have to, everyone else is thinking it too

We need to bring in the special forces of the ultrasound

Waiting room stomach cramping

Dry lips and trembling hands hidden

Beneath the plastic garment bag holding

A bra you may not need again

Two cups one breast

You start to panic

This way please you are directed down the narrow walk

The nurse says  your name too kindly

Your file is too thick

Cold table, dimly lit room

Romantic lighting for a sterile love/hate affair

Metal paddle sliding, probing

Settling on a black blob the size of a pea

Or a button

Or an aspirin

Or a tumor

Don’t say the word, you don’t have to, everyone is thinking it too

We’ll need to remove this and test it

You can go now

We’ll contact the doctor

You go home and think of that word, but this time you will say it and make it small

Just in case it’s there this time

Cancer

It’s like saying death

If you say it, it will scare it off

And it does

Until you go to bed and it lays there beside you

A hateful appendage like the breast you pretend isn’t there

The breast you have been terrified of for five years

Since they took out the cyst that wasn’t cancer

But wasn’t normal either

The one that put you on this twice yearly rollercoaster from hell

Needles aspirating

Lumps dug out

Biopsy

Safe this time

You leave the office feeling cancer free

You arrive home seeing the gaping hole that used to be your aunt’s breast

And you wait for it to get you too

Oksana Grigorieva, Mel Gibson and Battered Women and Children

I had fully intended to stay away from blogging for the next little while and I will return to the absence mode, but I need to address something that pertains to my memoir.  I would like to say I know nothing about this subject, but as it happens I’m an expert and it’s becoming rapidly apparent that it’s  impossible for me to contain my outrage.  Oh, I know you all know where I’m going on this particular media train of thought, yes I am indeed talking about Oksana Grigorieva and Mel Gibson.

I was going to spill an impassioned plea regarding the insanity of a system that is inept when dealing with the issue of family violence and its paralyzing acceptance of violence when a family member is involved.  But hey, that’s been done ad nauseum.  Then, I thought I might highlight the plight of the unheard voices of the children who are silenced by the courts in matters of men who beat women.  Again, it would be redundant and there are others out there fighting the good fight in this regard.  At one point, I was going jump on the band wagon and give Mel a damn good verbal slap, but I would surely drown in the sea of human beings who are doing a fine job without me.  I thought I’d exhausted everything I could possibly address pertaining to Gibson and his sociopathy, a quite intentional cruelty he has been trying to disguise as mental illness.  He isn’t mentally ill by the way, although he does a very convincing short term portrayal but then, he is an actor.  No, I thought there was nothing of worth I could add.  But something was bothering me deep down,  and after I read some of the responses to the release of the tapes I knew what it was.  It was other women and their responses to Oksana’s behaviour and Mel’s abuse.

Initially, when I heard that Robyn Gibson had signed a sworn affidavit that Mel Gibson never hit her or their children, I wasn’t very surprised.  Not because this is true, because as anyone who has ever been involved with a misogynist will tell you, he didn’t just turn fifty four and smack someone or berate and abuse them. As much as Mel would like us all to believe it, Oksana did not open a box filled with rage to which only she held the key.  No, I will guarantee that Robyn has experienced her fair share of what we all heard on those taped telephone conversations.   Then, there was another Whoopi Goldberg idiot moment defending Gibson’s behavior, even citing his access to her home and her children as an example of her trust in him.  Again, I wasn’t surprised and I wasn’t buying any of the bullshit emanating from her mouth or Robyn’s pen.   No, these two women were not speaking their truth and they damn well know it.  But why?  Why would one woman who was divorced from a man and another who was of a race and gender he clearly denigrates and despises, come to his defense when he is so clearly guilty of such vile things?

To answer that, you would have to understand two things:  1. The psychology of oppression and victimization on a segment of society that has never held the balance of power (yet)and  2. the complex nature of the relationships between those who are seemingly free of overt oppression and those who are obviously oppressed.  There is a complicated answer filled with statistics and a mountain of research to explain it but, being one of those statistics, I can break it down easily: Fear and shame.  Women who have been beaten, controlled, humiliated etc and survived it without dealing internally with their anger toward the abuser will turn on those who remind them  of their very own punch in the face,  kick in the ribs or a name calling tirade that has scarred their self esteem.  It’s an insidious variation of the crab effect.   When someone has not walked themselves through the emotional gutter and placed the blame on their own abuser, then climbed out of it intact and wiser, they tend to feel as they did when they were living in that isolated hell that is domestic violence.   Emotionally they stay in the abuse and are still being controlled by their abuser because they feel they were to blame in some way.  Robyn needs to blame Mel and Whoopi needs to blame whoever hurt her then they both need to move on from this shit and either step up or step out of it.  Being abused is NOT a victims fault, Being abused does NOT mean you are in some way defective and shameful.  Being abused means you were trusting and got hoodwinked by professional predators and liars who are more practiced at spotting innocent people than innocent people are at spotting predators.  I think Robyn and Whoopi ought to go for a visit to their local battered women’s shelter and tell those black and blue women how great Mel is after they all sit and listen to those tapes.  I bet they wouldn’t go and that is the real toll this crime takes on women, it divides them and that is the goal of all those whose sole intention is to conquer.

Okay, diatribe complete.  Off I go back into blog obscurity, that is, unless Mel does something even more despicable, hard as that is to comprehend.  Be good to yourselves and I’ll see you all in good time.  Much love.  🙂

Cake

Sometimes it’s good to remember the prison walls

and interior games of solitaire

counting minutes and aces

watching as they pass like raindrops down the window

endless sliding hopes each individually named

just for you

mud and floods and lichen

a Gothic horror made real

while the coyotes yip

and the cougar prowls

and you feel the pin point of light disappear

absorbed by the darkness he spreads across your future

as if he were spreading icing on a cake

Two Abreast

Left breast

Right breast

Keep abreast of the situation

of the breast

the weight of the chest

that lies there threatening

to cut your breath

it steals your rest

this is just a test

of your breast

to ensure against

unwanted guests

who make their nests

like little pests

who could be cancer

fully dresssed

You must be certain lest

by death you are caressed

You’re just a chicken so obsessed

With your lumpy scary breast

Three Poems

STINGER

With all the bluster you can muster

Penetrate the soul flesh

Gather it into a pile

And feast on it until your horrific greed is sated

Once devoured a new meal needs to be consumed promptly

If a social famine decimates the  landscape

killing off all predatory opportunities

Only one solution can exist for this vexing condition of  endless need

Show us how it’s really done

Consume yourself completely

*******************************

PASTIME

In your rooms the shadow falls before night

leaking into love illuminated cracks

smothering a hopeful heart that sighs alone

knitting worry from a ball of pain and fear

*******************************

FULL MOON SURVEILLANCE TEAM

Looking up you can hardly tell

the meaning of  that cinderella disk

a round wisher who is indifferent to life

Deaf and Mute but generous with the dirty looks

A green cheese idiot demon Peter Principle

in charge of tides, menstruation, insanity and poets