As Echoes Fade - a poem

Quietly I contemplate sounds of waves that crash

on shores of dissension, as senate hearings bear witness

of white-lies, and catching of white whales who bleed

out victims life-force, crimson rivers splashing upon

a stoned shore of judgment. In hand of monsters

stones are words slung with tabloid headlines

damming them for being human, sexually progressive

and insinuating slut-shaming as a means to destroy

them. Quietly, hush-money is sliding across tables

from White House, to Hollywood, from law firms,

to industry. As one survivor recounts words, men tuck

tail, and dive headfirst in deniability. Their semen

freshly festering in forced entry as tears are replaced

by guilty-feelings, as though claws that snag

are less powerful than bodies that petrify and attempt

to get out alive. Larger than life figures self-satisfy

their erections as though starry eyed women

have been dreaming to be taken advantage of in casting

couch settings. Lurid tales of limelight are accepted

as part of party. We, on outside, rationalize victim

blaming, even as rich young men get lenient sentences,

because it might ruin their chances, as if they hadn't

ruined their chances themselves. At what age do we forgive

our whims and dishonor the painful reminders of pain

and shame that flood the social media lands. As Facebook,

as Twitter, as Reddit, as Instagram, as world persists

on making absurdist statements: but its her fault for not being smarter,

it's her fault for not being tougher, well when you run

around in that company, well when you dress like that,

well when you go into men's company. Continuously

voices of destruction slut-shame the shattered, making

it harder for people to step forth, making an academic

who decided to come forth with her experience of a Justices

sordid past, and given to death threats, and we said,

well of course, what did she expect for speaking out. Truth,

what did she expect when she wanted to stop it from being okayed,

to make it go away, to change the narrative, but so much

is written by men, it is hard to re-frame the story, when she was brave

enough to step forth and we supported the beast of the machine.