Goodnight Moon

When I cannot sleep, there is a reminder in the sky that helps me feel connected.  It helps me realize that I am small in comparison. It is a satellite, but it is beautiful…The moon.  My infatuation with the moon started as a young child, way before I ever even noticed Orion, my hunter and guide.  The moon is something that many people stare at and wonder if anyone out there in the world is connected to them by the emotions they feel when they see it.  It is constant; a friend, a guide.  It shines so bright on borrowed light, yet it smiles back at you like it is creating it all on its own.

Sometimes I tell the moon my thoughts and fears. Sometimes I smile with it and feel sweet caresses from knowing that I am not alone. I watched the moon tonight.  It made me feel a little better. It allowed me to remember I am one of many who cherish that sight all over the world.  I can sleep now.  So, goodnight moon, my friend, goodnight.

The Beholder

"It's been days. I have to do this. It'll make me feel better," she said aloud in the empty house where no one but herself could hear.  As she turned the hot water handle to the highest setting and pulled the knob to start the shower, the tears sting her eyes as she realizes she does not want to take her clothes off again.  The nakedness reminds her of the past and she tries to push the memories out of her head. 

The bathroom starts to fog over as the thoughts continue to penetrate her mind. The pain of each movement and each thought as she slowly undresses is unbearable, but she is stronger than she realizes.  One sleeve, one movement, one breath, one moment at a time. She's left standing in her underwear and socks and is confused at which ones to take off last.  Both seem equally difficult as she loses herself in thought as to "why the socks?" She leans down to take off one sock at a time and the tears slow down.  She collapses in her underwear safely onto the floor of the foggy bathroom.  "Breathe!" she screams as she holds the damned socks and desires to set the clothes on fire.  Finally, the courage rises up for a split second as she stands up and throws her underwear into the trash. They were her favorite...

As she steps into the searingly hot shower, she breathes a sigh of relief.  The water is hotter than necessary; too hot, yet not hot enough.  She wonders how hot a shower would have to be to cleanse the soul.  How many times does she need to shampoo her hair?  How much soap does it take to sanitize her body? 

The tears mix with the streams of water from the showerhead and she feels for a fraction of a moment that she is not alone. There are others out there that are crying with her and the tears are cleansing each of them.  Within the scalding water amongst the soap and tears there was courage and bravery hiding which she did not yet see. That fraction of a moment was the beginning of acceptance.  Years may go by before she realizes that (if she can remember) that was the first moment of healing.  The first of many moments.

She scrubs harder than she should as she tries to wash the sins of another away.  She realizes no soap nor will any amount of hot water cleanse her soul. With this knowledge, she curls up on the floor of the shower to feel the heat singe her skin until the water runs cold and the tears run dry.  Slowly, she turns the water off. Shivering, she leans over to wrap herself into the towel.  She whispers, "I wish you were softer," and she is not fully aware if she means just the towel or both the towel and life itself. 

Time may heal all wounds, but rarely does the scar completely fade away.
 
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This is dedicated to one in four women and to the two thirds that never speak up to be accounted for.
According to the U.S. Department of Justice, every two minutes a woman in America is raped.