Carolyn van Langenberg: Fury, a portrait

She is the woman no one wants to see
The fingered daughter with rage boiling in her

Body flinging pain at all the letters
She taps across the computer screen

From left to right. Her skin sweats fury
When she grits her teeth to deliver her heart

Full of blood and undiluted anguish.
She is her words. She is her longing to be heard

Notwithstanding the hushing sounds of
Sisters who want to silence her

Profound gift for touching the truth. They
Like her as the shadow in the family home

The mote distilled when its door shuts her out.
Unlike them she is articulate.

And while she aims straight at their dissembling,
The magpies in the blue air watch her.