Founded in the fall of 1991, Laurel Moon is Brandeis' oldest, national literary publication. Each issue we publish features original work from undergraduate students.
the light is fluorescent
i look out
at the faces
dark emotional coils
burn my throat’s red aisle
as my hollow gaze
lands upon his face
i say, “unkiss my wrists
free me with
the breath of your confession
dull the sharp edge of my memory
with the seaglass
of your tongue”
the judge
halts my pleas
directing me
to speak my testimony
but
the man’s eyes call me
undeniable prey
“lillian” she says
“sorry ma’am”
i begin,
“that cold june day
thunder spit something like rain
over my body
there was nowhere to go
i went nowhere
his hands ran
a charred ink line
over the planes
of my body
his wrist’s pale skin
lingered in
my eye-line
as he squeezed
tighter and
tighter
his body approached
from the bottom
then
above
on top
inside
skin to skin
i could perceive
the end of me
my name caught
in his throat
as he finished
the memory
of that sound
violates my mind
there was no magic
in the clumsy brutality
of his
skin
did you know
blood
leaves the body
in ruins?
i set fire
to the cloth
stained with my terror
and his pleasure
that cold june day
he took a piece of me
my own name
now a violation”
rising from the stand
my rapist’s greedy eyes
graze my form
and i again
am a phantom-corpse
i say to myself,
“my skin
is my own
my
skin
is
my
own”