I read an essay
on a personal experience
with the Irish poet Seamus Heaney,
a discussion on violence
and the greens of Ireland.
I have been fortunate
to not have the experience of bombs in my town,
or the violence of war on my doorstep.
Yet I have seen the bruises of love
and the scars that it leaves behind—
upon women and children,
oozing sores of the mind
long after the flesh
has laid new cells upon the openings.
These are private wars
far out numbering the wars of men.
These women and children,
extending across time and country,
2016 copyright by Katie Pifer http://www.witchpetals.wordpress.com