“Illuminated Monsters”
word by Sean Hogan
colour by Giordani Poloni
More philosopher than centerfold,
She stops and stares at men who don’t care,
Beneath breasts beats more than fool’s gold,
Still, eyes linger where they wish she’d bare,
Fit to raise our youth and clean,
To buy and cook the food we eat,
Never heard and seldom seen,
Her labored fruits made bitter sweet,
The sliding scale of value froze
Needle pausing under half
Youthful beauty no longer shows
Her age screwed up the math.
At forty-five she “wastes away”,
Unmarried, unfortunate maid,
A gringo sitcom worn cliché,
To live, you must get paid,
She is only one example
One in all the many forms
A gender bent and trampled
Weathered leather in the storm
If a woman’s words fall on deaf ears,
Did they emerge or make a sound?
Do they possess so much to fear,
To keep the cycle spinning round?
Over half the population,
Trapped in shades of subjugation,
In every continent and nation,
In fear of pain, of death, invasion,
Is it not enough their body’s not their own,
That we wear and tear their very souls?
Teach girls to fear being alone,
To never take direct routes home?
We love to point out shadows in the dark,
But do we illuminate the monsters?
Trembling fingers hold no spark,
Steady hands, both shame and flaunt her
word by Sean Hogan
colour by Giordani Poloni
wordandcolour 