This month another Moon Prize, the 142nd, goes to Amanda Hawk's vigilant poem "Femme Silencio."

 

Femme Silencio

by Amanda Hawk


Little girls learn
to be quiet.
Hands on desk,
feet on the ground.
Sit upright.
Lock their lips.
Listen for the boys
as their bell clapper tongues
clang out war zone warnings
before pulling little girls’ hair and skirts.
Girls begin to listen
for chalk scratches at doors
and blackboard predators.
Consent,
a secret language
little girls teach each other
on playground
near vacant swing sets.
Teachers tell little girls
quiet is another word
for wisdom.
Pinch marks and bruised shins
are every day for them.
Adults pluck cries for help
from small bow mouths
and tell girls their tongues
are tattle tale sirens.
They learn to only be silent
and as women,
quiet is another word
for danger.
Fashion fingers into lockpicks
to pry open
latch lock mouths.
Safety is noisy stomps
and jangling keys
tucked between fingers.
Quiet is the name
of the stranger
five steps behind,
or the hand resting
too high on the thigh.
Women learn
to unscrew institutionalized politeness
and become wailers
for their bodies, which hold
a black and white history
of muffled denials and broken laughter.
Women learn quiet
is another word for appendage.
They stitch themselves back together
with remnants of plastic barrettes
and old school pictures of smiles
behind locked doors.
They teach themselves the word no
with patched up
memories.
They learn silence costs them their
flesh, blood, bones and identity.


* * * * *

Amanda Hawk is Best of the Net-nominated and Pushcart Prize-nominated Poet.  She lives in Seattle between the roaring planes and the city’s neon lights.  Amanda has been featured in multiple journals including Volney Road Review, Rogue Agent and the winnow magazine.  She released her first chapbook in 2023 called Rain Stained City.  Recently, she placed second in the Seattle Crypticon Horror Short Story contest.