on martyrdom

silver nightgown girl. lady of the lake.

you sleepwalked into the water

in the early morning light. in your dreams

you died a beautiful death. shotgun girl.

head cocked back for the kill. how you wish it were true.

that you had a silver sword instead of a tongue. that you could

hurt them all back. i’m sorry, little poet. you have words in place of fists.

this is how your god made you. woman, you are their shakespeare,

the gutter angel singing in white, the kind of thing people love to set on fire.

be the kindling for the revolution. let your dresses burn. stand in the open field

and take it all down with you. you will feel so fragile standing there

and the earth will say: i am not like the rest. i was made to hold you.