No macduff

There is but one child birth I can speak of
And I cannot speak of it, to you
For it is a forbidden, secret thing
Swaddled in shame
Buried in trauma
records sealed and names erased
This family had nothing to do with it
Any wonder or inquiry
Obliterated by the small allowed honesty
It was an event that didn’t exist.
The key, swallowed by shame
Shame killed by fear
Fear destroyed by guilt
Guilt buried by anger
Anger drowned in complacency.
And yet, here I am
Writing this…



9 thoughts on “No macduff

  1. Thankfully, a baby is born innocent of whatever situations resulted in his or her arrival. Whole in himself or herself, the baby begins its own journey. I read your poem with interest in the perspective you brought to this topic. I like such poems that widen my horizons and make me think.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. The Macduff I know of in the Scottish play? What a tragedy! And then he was the avenger and true king. Perhaps the little bit your poem hints at will unbottle some of the anger these type of secrets generate. An amazing poem and an important one for many of us.

    Liked by 1 person

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