THE WOMAN WHO GAVE UP SPEAKING
has heard enough.
The enterprise is not loyalty.
Daggers. Blood. Mermaids.
She has seen
best intentions
fall like the snapped bodies
of cedar
waxwings beneath
unimpressed windows.
The enterprise is stolen words.
Death Before Dishonor.
Jesus. Mother. Semper Fi.
She has tried to pull the no-trick
ponies from their sunken
groove.
The enterprise is cold so
bitter the tears
crystallize
before they’ve left your eyes.
She is not
a symbol-dove
nor a
symbol-donkey.
Along twisted pathways
leaves reach for
the back of something
that ran by
centuries ago.
Her anger
hunches close,
a staring ape.
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