FASHION Poem: Grabbed, by Esther Muthoni

You shake my hand
Then she does,
Her warm hands are unfamiliar
Yours are cold and too much so,
I knew them because you made sure I did.
Through the cotton of my shirt to the thickness of my dancing pants,
My feet drew art on the carpet that you wiped clean with one strike,
One too tender touch you were not asked for.

I don’t know you like family.
Even as you encroach and penetrate,
Ducking your head under my grandmother’s door
Taking sips out of my sweet aunty’s cup,
Your smiles and pleasantries slap me with how casual they seem and
All but the guilty look in your eye
Wrings the truth of your torment out of my reality,
I cling to the memory of my fat ring turned
So that the bulk is in my shaking palm as I itched to hurt you for what you did,
A palm with no fingers, no function, no precision,
Nothing to hold and make my twitches action,
No-one to hit you as hard as you deserved.

Does she know who you are?
Does she know what you are?
She smiles at me, unaware that her homemaker
Destroyed my safety in mine.
I wish I could have sent a message
Through the brown etching in my palms
Past the encryption on my fingerprints
Through the chipped nail polish to the depths of what makes us women,
That she should grab herself
And run.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest