Victim Impact Statement

Anxiety is a second spine
and it sears as I look over my shoulder.
I watch the world in frenzied fragments:
rear view mirrors, shadows, attorney attaché cases—
this Protection Order in my pocket
is not bulletproof glass.

On edge, I remain in chaotic captivity
despite my escape from the hollow house
that had sent wrecking balls through my boundaries.

Instant panic floods my skin, blood, brain
at the sight of that vehicle make and model
and I'm afraid to play with my child in my own backyard.

Running on trails was once my prayer,
but the miles are stolen from me —
my second spine can't bear it.

Security footage, strangers warning me
I'm in danger, no sacred spaces remain;
he knows where I work, where I live,
where I pick up my morning coffee.

So expensive, this business of safety—
I've paid for it in sleepless nights,
in time off the job for court hearings,
in therapy copays, in cold hard cash
to law firms and copy machines.

Jumpy and jaded, I rise from the ashes
and take flight, my little one under my bleeding wing,
ferocious in my sanity and sheer survival.

I ask that the court consider the impact
these crimes have had on my weary soul
and impose a sentence that's just.