She limps, her walking stick tap-tapping
struggling to remember why
she is wearing her favourite floral dress
she glances at her sister-in-law,
overwhelmed
they were young teens
snatched from their homes,
dragged along dusty roads
imprisoned in a blood-red house
raped repeatedly
comfort women,
now in their twilight years
tap-tapping into rooms with sticks
trying to forget what can’t be forgotten
Ellie Ness Writes 