It is late and threatening rain, my feet rumble slow,
sorry, sorry. she whispers apologies to her crying baby.
I decide to cut through a field of withering sunflowers,
sorry, sorry. into tiny brown ears.
I push through their drooping heads in the dark,
her living room a dark khaki, the baby wails.
They slap me aggressively as I brush past,
the child was forced into her by a man with a gun, or many men with guns.
Standing on gnarled stalks, they scratch at my beanstalk legs,
the army ‘wife’, gently apologizing, muffles her child with her breast.
Their black faces stare at me, refusing to give up their seed,
all men are evil, they are the devil, she looks up a me, his hands upon her chest.
Getting out the other side took longer than expected.