Son


My mother's back
is laced
with bright red ribbons of blood
they blossom
and swell
forming ridges across her spine

Her son,
I should
fight the men,
reach out,
say something.

But,
even as her son,
I am too afraid.

I stand behind the thin door frame and stare.

My mother's back
is laced
with bright red ribbons of blood.

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