[the Writing of Kuypers] “[JanetKuypers.com] “[Bio] “[Poems] “[Prose]
One morning I woke, walked into the hall
I turned the handle of the door. I heard a snap.
I felt the walls jump back in fear,
I opened my eyes.
The Room of The Rape
For almost two years when I walked up the nine stairs,
held on to the wooden railing whose finish was worn,
I’d pass the first door on the right.
My bedroom door was closed for one year, ten months and seven days.
I slept in the den across the hall.
and looked at the door. I turned around,
knowing I couldn’t take it anymore,
walked into the den, folded the bed back into the couch,
and then walked into the hall, squarely facing
the door of the room.
A room in my house, that I let him go in to.
But when I woke up that morning, I told myself
that I wouldn’t let him stop me today.
I slowly pushed the door open,
slowing it down to hear the hinges creak.
The shade to the small window in the corner was drawn,
so I stepped onto the parquet floor and turned on the light.
“fear of having to see the light again,
“then rush in on me in anger.
I saw the bed sheets rustle, get kicked
“and tossed to the ground again.
I tasted the sweat and I wanted to spit,
“but I couldn’t. Something told me
“that wasn’t what I was supposed to do.
My bedroom.
I saw the fists reach out from the walls
“and thought of the poster I drew
“of rebellion and rage
“that is tucked in the back of my closet.
I felt the muscles tense behind my eyebrows
I pursed my lips
I swallowed the sweat
My bedroom.
I felt the fists punching my stomach,
“grabbing my face, my arms, my hair,
“pulling my legs apart.
I felt my head against the pillows again
“as I tried to just push my face
“into the salt and the sheets
I heard the screams I never made
“echo inside me
“the screams that haunted me
I closed my eyes from the pain and the light
My bedroom.
I thought of the fist, the symbol for the
“communist work ethic
“to do what you’re told,
“to disappear into society.
The room was mine --
the sheets on the floor, the stains on the bed, the smell of Hell
and the photographs on the dresser.
I looked at the pictures
and found one of him, with his arms around me.
I picked up the frame,
ran my hand along the gilded edges.
Flakes of paint fell to the floor.
I opened the drawer of the dresser
and gently set it face down.
I turned around,
shutting off the light on my way out.
My bedroom.
Copyright Janet Kuypers.
All rights reserved. No material
may be reprinted without express permission.
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