So tired
I’m so tired,
I can’t keep my eyes open
to see the world crumbling at
the feet of a Twitter feed
because egos are too large
from fast food, gorged on
lies and alternative facts
that nothing, not even
the sacred oval seat are
safe.
When my eyes close
I see red capes, white bonnets
and no rights for reproductive
organs that belong to everyone
but themselves because men
are standing taller, whiter than ever
as they ask for a signature for a pill
to make sure the ejaculated man says it’s
okay to swallow.
I’m tired of hearing
boys will be boys or
it’s because he likes you,
conditioned from youth to
think being pushed to the
ground means true love and
no means yes because it’s
not polite to reject someone
when they were being nice.
With my mouth shut
I am screaming as loud
as possible but they only
hear me when I say abortion
or equal pay, only hearing
murder and men behind women,
so it’s easier to be quiet,
to not speak, just march on
and fight.
Claimed
Staking claim to land
that’s not yours,
signing a deed to
our bodies next to the
pillars of democracy
nothing new for white men,
planting seeds, not staying
to see the blooming fruit that
needs care, love, just boasting
that they grew it by themselves
telling the plot they claimed to
sweetly sit and be grateful,
for what was given to them
by the higher power of man,
not wish on the fire inside,
knowing if wishes came true,
they’re decision would
disappear in the smoke
rising from the rotting
love meant to mask
the war that is lurking,
creeping up on women while
we were made to close our eyes
and open our legs to life.
Dirty Hands
Soft snow falls on fresh soil
her baby boy picked
off in a crowd
like the deer he used to
hunt with his dad
now she’s pointing
to the one with the mahogany
lid to cover her little
soldier who died in war
he never signed up for
our voice must be heard because
those that should, can’t speak
they have become a number
in a headline and a grainy face
on page A12
someone took aim at anyone
within range, one pull, one shot,
multiple deaths but no
action,
they become a name
no one can remember
fresh snow used to warm
my soul, now
it is what covers his.
Samantha Stanich is originally from Ohio and currently lives in Wilkes-Barre, PA. She graduated from the E.W. Scripps School of Journalism at Ohio University and recently obtained an MFA degree at Wilkes University. Samantha recently had her first, and only, child, a little prince named Gunnar. And after years of saying she didn’t want kids; she is happy to report that motherhood is just as terrifying and tiring as she thought it would be.