Woman as War Correspondent

for gods’ sake go

you whisper, daring flame—and I agree: my tender’s dry: my inner
rage is ready to set fires, but not to hear
how savagely our timbers roar: not to drag a saw across
our charcoaled page—no—

beat it, before

I look slant: I know
my heart cannot break: but I will
glue your shards, if you promise not to move: or I will
tongue-and-groove the edges
of each ragged
                              wound, then leave
                              before the bond can set: I want to get—

between you (cursing)
fuck
and you (cursed) while torch songs play—

crazy bitch—

I will escape: blazing, faded—

if I die by firing squad, I won’t fall down: held in place
by sticky words, I swear: my last breath—

don’t—

there are no gods
but Nellie Bly and Ida Wells: write to me: I am alive, and gone
to hell—

come back—

our frazzled histories (sharp as needle teeth
machined along an inner thigh): disrespect as entropy: you lie
unmoved in flaming sheets—

burn to survive: words are witness: silence, death.


Jude Marr teaches and writes poetry as protest. For links to more work, or to buy her chapbook, Breakfast for the Birds, please go to http://judemarr.com/. You can also follow Jude @JudeMarr1.

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