I have tales to tell
and tales I’ve been told
of women captured by a pirate ship
under the Ben Franklin Bridge.
Blue and tragic, it could have been,
but these women had magic coming through their fingertips.
The story goes on.
They were placed in the ship’s hull,
their hands were bound in burlap and rope.
Separated from each other,
they started to talk:
“tap, tap, bang, bang, shuffle, shuffle.”
A language and a force began to be forged between them.
Under a blue moon, the ship threatened more destruction.
It steamed ahead towards the North.
The women seemed to have been forgotten.
The energy of their bond, caused the ship
to take on water.
There, then, was among them a strong power.
These women had razor, sharp tongues
Speaking Speaking Howling,
they sliced that ship in two.
I have tales to tell,
and tales I have been told
of women bound and cast,
large stakes forced into the ground.
These women had powers,
that like swords,
held their executioners at bay.
Fear began in the people who came to watch.
With ascendancy, the women dismantled those stakes.
They spelled witchcraft over the bodies of their captors.
Freeing themselves, hexing the crowd,
they grabbed hold of the flames and carried them forth.
I have tales to tell,
and tales I have been told,
of women tortured under the knife of ritual.
Held down by the circumciser.
As the women waited on the inevitability,
they stoked embers into flames.
When the mutilator came,
the women were safely ensconced
in a ring of high fire.
They could not be reached.
The fire moved away from them
and burned down the village,
taking the huts of torture and knives and razors with them.
The women calmly raised themselves up,
and began to travel forward,
whole and intact.
I have tales to tell,
and tales I’ve been told
of women hiding in their own homes.
Walking on broken glass,
Bleeding. Violence freezing them in place.
until finally the light shown down,
so strongly, and offered a hand,
beckoning them out.
Nightmares and day terrors almost crushed them,
the light continued to shine brightly.
And a voice said, “Amen, you are blessed. Amen.”
These women followed the light, proclaiming blessings
and strength from above.
I have another tale to tell.
It’s of a woman in rags,
sitting motionless on a Philly street.
She holds her head in her arms;
she looks up as I pass,
eyes on fire, laughing at my perception.
Her laughter echoes off the buildings.
For she has been imprisoned by a ship,
faced with the stake, threatened
by mutilation, beaten in her own home.
She laughs because she is free and powerful,
and knows where she has been.
Author Bio:
Marie Turco is currently living in a cottage filled with animals in Tennessee after relocating from Philadelphia. Hard to imagine what pen placed her in TN, but she is learning to speak Southern and writing everyday. If she could have her wish, she would write poems on horseback. A brown and white Paint horse would carry her through the fields, as she scribbled phrases and lines.
Marie is a psychotherapist and writer. Writing fuels her life, particularly now, and she writes every chance she can.
and tales I’ve been told
of women captured by a pirate ship
under the Ben Franklin Bridge.
Blue and tragic, it could have been,
but these women had magic coming through their fingertips.
The story goes on.
They were placed in the ship’s hull,
their hands were bound in burlap and rope.
Separated from each other,
they started to talk:
“tap, tap, bang, bang, shuffle, shuffle.”
A language and a force began to be forged between them.
Under a blue moon, the ship threatened more destruction.
It steamed ahead towards the North.
The women seemed to have been forgotten.
The energy of their bond, caused the ship
to take on water.
There, then, was among them a strong power.
These women had razor, sharp tongues
Speaking Speaking Howling,
they sliced that ship in two.
I have tales to tell,
and tales I have been told
of women bound and cast,
large stakes forced into the ground.
These women had powers,
that like swords,
held their executioners at bay.
Fear began in the people who came to watch.
With ascendancy, the women dismantled those stakes.
They spelled witchcraft over the bodies of their captors.
Freeing themselves, hexing the crowd,
they grabbed hold of the flames and carried them forth.
I have tales to tell,
and tales I have been told,
of women tortured under the knife of ritual.
Held down by the circumciser.
As the women waited on the inevitability,
they stoked embers into flames.
When the mutilator came,
the women were safely ensconced
in a ring of high fire.
They could not be reached.
The fire moved away from them
and burned down the village,
taking the huts of torture and knives and razors with them.
The women calmly raised themselves up,
and began to travel forward,
whole and intact.
I have tales to tell,
and tales I’ve been told
of women hiding in their own homes.
Walking on broken glass,
Bleeding. Violence freezing them in place.
until finally the light shown down,
so strongly, and offered a hand,
beckoning them out.
Nightmares and day terrors almost crushed them,
the light continued to shine brightly.
And a voice said, “Amen, you are blessed. Amen.”
These women followed the light, proclaiming blessings
and strength from above.
I have another tale to tell.
It’s of a woman in rags,
sitting motionless on a Philly street.
She holds her head in her arms;
she looks up as I pass,
eyes on fire, laughing at my perception.
Her laughter echoes off the buildings.
For she has been imprisoned by a ship,
faced with the stake, threatened
by mutilation, beaten in her own home.
She laughs because she is free and powerful,
and knows where she has been.
Author Bio:
Marie Turco is currently living in a cottage filled with animals in Tennessee after relocating from Philadelphia. Hard to imagine what pen placed her in TN, but she is learning to speak Southern and writing everyday. If she could have her wish, she would write poems on horseback. A brown and white Paint horse would carry her through the fields, as she scribbled phrases and lines.
Marie is a psychotherapist and writer. Writing fuels her life, particularly now, and she writes every chance she can.
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