10/16/2017
As my Facebook feed is filled with posts, crying "me too;" as the enormity of the social reality of sexual violence becomes visible, I am reminded of this poem I wrote about the experiences of a very little girl, for whom the reality of sexual interference had repercussions far greater than the direct involvement of her body and her emotions.
When Little One Howls
Deep inside, the little one is howling.
A toddler who only wanted to please,
she always pleased Daddy too much
but could never please Mother enough.
For Mother, she carries the secret,
buries her shame, crawls deep
into her walled cave of isolation.
Sometimes, the little one wakes,
stretches her wings, wants to be free.
She forgets the coldness of Mommy,
forgets her own humility, but then
she finds reality again, and howls,
oh, how she howls.
When Little One howls, we cradle her;
we blanket her in rabbit fur,
give her our arms in which to hide
while the tears flow deep inside.
The crumbling walls she built before
aren't much protection any more.
When Little One howls we hold her tight,
and rock her gently through the night
to let her know she's loved and wanted
no matter how her mother taunted.
When Little One howls, we wipe her tears
and whisper love songs in her ears.
(Alida Van Braeden, Dancing Into Eternity)
