it had become
quite clear
that her escape plan
lacked ingenuity
when she was drafted into
the coldest war in
her history,
her only armor
being her
slow, simmering
rage

but not a single weapon of
words

it was the cool,
unseasonable August breeze
that crept into the nape
of her neck
warning her to
speak not


for the art of effort
is poetry
alone