[nightmares] until then

Until
by Indu Iyer

"Women live in the silences between men
in between the daggers of words
the shards of hate
the pummels of fists.
We live in the spaces
carved out between
abuse
in between the cat calls
the gropings
the unwanted penetration.
Between discomfort and
pure horror
we fight to stay alive.
as we tiptoe to not wake
him in the morning
as we hold secret bank accounts,
as we call fellow women for help
only once he has gone to work.
We fight as we wear
running shoes instead of sandals
carry keys in our hand
when we walk at night
give fake numbers
to men in bars
not wanting to unpin a grenade.
This fighting
is not valiant and rewarding.
it is degrading business
it turns women into mice
scurrying from corner to corner
with our feet peddling
as fast as they can
trying to locate a crumb
or a nibble of cheese
amid a world of cats.
Let me be clear – Women are not mice.
Women will not be made into pestilence
by those men who choose to hate us.
We will not live in little holes
between the floor boards
we will not be prisoners
in our own homes, our streets, our cities.
We will not live in the spaces between
our abusers and attackers.
We will fight.
We will cauterize our wounds
with our rage
We will rise like
walls of an inferno
ferocious
relentless
undeniable
each day
every day
Until every woman who says “I was raped” is believed.
Until prostitution is no longer an option.
Until pornography is a relic of the past.
Until women do not fear
our own fathers or brothers
our friends, teachers, lovers
because they might believe
they own our bodies
our minds
our words
our lives.
Until every living person knows
without question
that women do not exist merely
to please men
to serve men
to fuck men,
But that women are survivors
that women are warriors
that women are above all
human.
Until love without tyranny
is not a dream
but the only love
ever known to woman
at all."

(From the Montreal Massacre Memorial on the National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women)

dear everyone: a lesson in consent and respecting each other's boundaries.

The absence of "no" does not mean "yes."
"I don't know" means "no" until further notice.
"Maybe" means fuckin "maybe," but "no" until further notice.

Only "yes," enthusiastic, wholehearted, "yes!" means "yes."



It's not that hard.
And if someone is violated, be careful not to repeat the violation when trying to help them.
Ask and listen. Please.

The Pattern

This is the pattern:

Mothers
too-good
too-strict
just trying to protect us from
men
with broken glasses taped together by long
tales and compliments that steal
our sight.

This tale--
two girls
two men
two rooms

this is where the sheet rips
and the pattern is severed in
two paths,
the same truth.

(Why couldn't I save her?)

Ten years later
the gravity hits me hard
in the bathroom
brushing my teeth at my mirror-self
and feeling compassion
for the one staring back,
strong, unblinking, gaze
and wondering why I stopped
looking people in the eyes
and holding my head high
like I do
in the mirror.

And then I remembered
the exact moment
in the room
with the man
where that stopped
and all of this started.

Oh the legacy of a moment,
of a few words,
perhaps an offering,
but that robbed me of many things,
and not even close
to everything she lost
in the other room.

~~~

Our mothers are waiting.
When they find out their hands wring
(broken heart-strings)
they scream
that they will kill him.
My mom drives to his house
day after day
for a week
and sits in her car

waiting...

waiting...

too-good. 

~~~

This is the pattern:
Men, taking what they want
and disappearing.
And women
waiting...

Waiting...

and in the meantime,
weaving back together
the tattered patterns of our lives
into some semblance of wholeness.
Mending the tears,
tending to tears
flowing out like an endless river
of sorrow

while the violence rages on

and we wait.

~~~

(What are these silhouettes
that shape so much
of the landscape we live on
with their mining
and their walking away?)