Breadcrumb #674

EMILY STOUT

There are so many things I didn’t understand
until I was burning in an amber fire
like a dumbstruck fly on a lightbulb,
but with more convictions.

I never knew people could conjure this 
kind of hurt for nothing, even when 
I was stabbing men at Orleans, 
I was doing it for victory. What victory 

did this bring? My young skin turned
black as an English furnace and I grasped
the cross tighter. I never asked
for love, but glory instead--

near impossible for a girl. Only after
my hair was singed, my breasts unsculpted,
did they paint me as worthy,
made in God’s great image.

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