War Story

One day (but not today) I will play the lady
I was (never) meant to be, curtsey knee-deep
in my flowered frock and let my enemies
break through the gates unscathed, grateful,
pale as whey. Knock, knock. A visitor!
Who's there? It's me, but I don't hate you,
anymore. It's me, loose screw, fruitless womb,
full of rue. Who knew? I'll spare you the gore,
but I withstood the torches, whispered the roar,
rose with the faithful and the few (not counting you).
At long last, I counted! Five! Six! Seven!
I stood eight feet from death, ten from heaven.
All my life, misspent, unleavened, intending
to bloom. Not yet. Not yet, my pet. But soon.

Copyright © 2007 Sarah Murphy All rights reserved
from Court Green
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission