Gathering

Tingles on my forehead,

a sudden chill

rising from my spine.

Waves of heat colliding downward.

A high pitched whistle

of an incessant wind

rising and falling.

Is it a ghost?

Spirits of Mother Earth?

Collective screams of suffering

housed in 170 women’s bodies

gathered together?

History found only deep within.

Knowing yet to be discovered.

Horror, abuse, neglect

unrecorded

untold

yet passed down.

Cellular remembrance of trauma.

Rising chatter of voices

coming together for connection.

Voices starved

to be heard

to be shared

to be released.

But the stifled scream

of my soul

is too loud

for polite company.

The long high note

in the opera

is encased in beauty.

Who wants to hear

naked longing,

shrill overtones,

excruciating pain

rising up?

What if we gathered

baring our raw voices?

Conjuring

collective

remembrance.

Nuclear fusion

to know,

to see,

to finally

heal.