by L. Roger Owens
Would it have made her day
easier, the day she scrolled Instagram
during Chem II, during lunch, during
AP Lang, during band, the day she read
the news of a gang rape two years ago,
would she have been prepared had we
sat her down—and at what age, 3, 7, 13?—
and told her of men who do not consider
her body her own, of men who fly planes
into towers, of men who tie bombs
to railroad tracks, of powerful men
who launch missiles into girls schools,
of men who believe her body to be
the plane, the towers, the train, the school
and her life potential charred debris
to be forgotten amidst their boasting?
But she already knew of these men,
the Epsteins, Weinsteins, the boys
sitting next to her in class who
might grow into them. And she wasn’t
prepared—how could she have been?
As I tucked her in that night, she said,
“I hate school,” said, “I want to go home,”
and of course she was home.
But I knew what she meant.
easier, the day she scrolled Instagram
during Chem II, during lunch, during
AP Lang, during band, the day she read
the news of a gang rape two years ago,
would she have been prepared had we
sat her down—and at what age, 3, 7, 13?—
and told her of men who do not consider
her body her own, of men who fly planes
into towers, of men who tie bombs
to railroad tracks, of powerful men
who launch missiles into girls schools,
of men who believe her body to be
the plane, the towers, the train, the school
and her life potential charred debris
to be forgotten amidst their boasting?
But she already knew of these men,
the Epsteins, Weinsteins, the boys
sitting next to her in class who
might grow into them. And she wasn’t
prepared—how could she have been?
As I tucked her in that night, she said,
“I hate school,” said, “I want to go home,”
and of course she was home.
But I knew what she meant.
L. Roger Owens teaches spirituality, ministry, and creative writing at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. He is an MFA student at Ashland University.