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.