Boy At The Orphanage

Poem By Martina E. Elenbaas

Scent of toothpaste and cigar,
he could not go to sleep,
waiting, fearing hoping,
that maybe tonight
the shadow would slide
past the double doors,
to another sleeping room.

But the scent came, incense
wafting in with the shadow
of the black cassock, swishing
like a black bird,
as it fell to the floor -
The boy's breath came
in strangled gulps.
He tried to keep from crying out
as the insistent fingers
began their exploring.

He knew, there was
no escape,
the silence
roared in his head,
not a word was said
as the soft touch
turned to pain
and he turned his face
into the pillow,
stifling his sobs,
to hide his tears and shame.

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