I wake to a knife <br />on the back of my neck, <br />a man's voice low <br />in my ear. What I am told to do, <br />I do. Still <br />the moon lights my room. <br />The freight of his chest <br />fixes me to the rough, wood floor. <br />His breath <br />brags down my throat <br />into my lungs, and I pray <br />for my soul. <br />I make of my body a bunker: <br />when he enters, <br />he does not touch me. <br />I am clean as rain.<br /><br />Sondra Upham<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rape-7/
