Not yet one of the women
in the dead field,
broken backed.

Still alive, but with the
trauma brain of
one who has hummed deep into the ocean
and had their face slapped.

While all the girls are busy
drowning cats headlong—
singing songs she never heard,
laughing like they’d never buried nothin’.

She made the men feel less like men.
That went on for sixteen years—
until they released her
to till the soil.

Arrangements were made with the chief psychologist,
with direction from Him—
who has all knowledge and power
to leave her there.

Bent over with the grey-haired women,
she’s wishin’ for no further fertilization—
freeze, if necessary.

While all the girls are busy
drowning cats headlong—
singing songs she never heard,
laughing like they’d never buried nothin’.

A cross between the four fields—
she will not be one of the women there;
or dead. Or think back.

She feels for it still—
scraping at the rocks,
her beating heart.

Maybe she can
continue,
as long as her thoughts flow freely,
humming through the noise.

She might remember
how to love herself—
that’s all she has left.
That’s her only chance.