Who we are

We are not who we are,
but what we let live to thrive in gardens of neglect.
We are not the words we speak,
but those we suffer to be spoken to the others in our place.
There are many least of them,
but what is done unto them is by our hand,
if it is by our leave.

I walked today and heard a young man
screaming every word that should not be heard,
at the woman that he said he loved.
I shifted my fingers and cast a spell,
for no force that I could mount would withstand
the blows his burly hands commanded.
I stood and watched, until summoned
others cleared the row.

But what happened at home between them,
we all know.

I saw their car pull away,
and looked at the still droplet of blood that had collected on the ground,
from where, I later found, she had spat
after he had struck her face with his fisted keys.

We are not who we are,
but what we give leave to grow,
in gardens of neglect.