deepundergroundpoetry.com

FGM

When they cut off the clitoris  
there's a spurt of blood--  
the deepest kind of red.  
 
The women    
throw the bits in the fire  
then dance barefoot  
through the village  
to bring good luck  
and ward off evil spirits.  
   
Everyone is smiling  
because traditions are upheld  
the chain    
remains unbroken  
but no-one heeds  
the smallest voice  
of a girl aged four--  
only one    
of a hundred  
and twenty million.
Written by Abracadabra
Published | Edited 15th Jul 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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