The cargo  is small bodies.  A mass of  tangled limbs cling to each other. I  hold on to baby sister as we are tossed about the dank floor boards pelted by  the spray of  high swells. Baby’s  sweet  scent distinguishes  her  from the others, the smell of a powdery new born.   Yesterday we were  lingering along the dirt road that lead from the old school house to our   home of splintered walls and dirt floors.    We walked faster ignoring the slant eyes of the men in the van  trailing us.  Captured, our school books scattered on the path, we were bound, our muffled cries drowned our by the rumbling motors.   Later we are miles off the coast of Venezuela,  we can hear the voice of the boatman, his eyes watch  for followers.  We are fed La Rochas to  transform our terror into sugar colored dreams.  Upon waking  we are in a sweet scented world of pale pink and  silk fans. The  Thai man’s slits of eyes smile behind  angry walls.

 

54 thoughts on “Cherry Blossoms

  1. Powerful words, Holly! This piece is a love/hate for me, as it should be. 🖤🖤🖤
    Funny enough, I just signed an AVAAZ petition to retry a gang of men in Ireland so that their time would equal their crime.

    The Petition Begins:
    “A gang in Northern Ireland kidnapped, beat, raped and sold 20 year old Anna for sex THOUSANDS of times. And did the same thing to dozens of others. They were caught, and convicted, for the SECOND time for some of their crimes.

    But they just got 8 MONTHS prison time!”

    I SAY:
    OUTRAGEOUS!!!!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Wow!! Such tragic and harsh imagery that are subjected to people, and the descriptive portrayal you put it just touches the heart and it sickens me that people are treated like that. Such heart put into this powerful post!

    Liked by 1 person

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