Finding Fierce’s Story: The Fight Inside

The Fight Inside

My mother once told me she had had second thoughts
about getting us vaccinated, my brothers and I.
About sullying our pristine, trusting little bodies
with dark potential.

This is how I feel about something else
that happened to me then.
The unwanted touch like the needle.
An unfamiliar dis-ease shot under my smooth, new skin.

He is like the vaccinating doctor.
Thick, awful probing hands.
The weight of authority like a knee on my chest.
“This won’t hurt a bit.”

I know, I know, this is wrong.
But my shame prevents rebellion.
If I don’t move, don’t call out,
We can all pretend this isn’t happening.

Because he is the Godfather.
The provider, the path-breaker
Who built the house, the lake, the family
With his own two hands.

And I,
I am heat and steel,
The truth a pebble under my tongue
As large as the room.

But I am just a little girl.

In my imagination
I scratch and kick and scream,
And force him into the light.

And I am heard
And comforted
And congratulated for my bravery.

But in real life
Like with the shots
Only my insides learned to fight.
While the rest of me, the rest of us, turned away.