We bury things
because they are dead,
or because they are alive
and must die.
He buried himself
in my soul
when he plunged his
into a tiny, untouched vessel.
He said it was a game;
he said the present was coming up;
he unbuttoned his jeans;
he tried to keep her from running.
Running, running, crying
She buried her head in her skinned knees,
pulling the blood-spotted panties from her ankles,
and hid until she withered, crumbled, flaked away.
Each time he touched her. she
numbed her confusion,
waiting for a hand that would not crush or squeeze.
She is ash; she has scattered.
He has left a forbidden inscription
on the tomb of her heart.
He has buried his curse in her remains,
but I remain and I reemerge.
I avenge the dead.
I will cut his roots.
Shelby Bevins-Sullivan is an English Major at The University of Kentucky.