stargazer woman
By Camille Bull
when you stab
the center of a lily,
how many years will you grieve it?
as it sits in the kicked-up dirt
of your muddy boots, suffocates
and spoils in your
angry light of a blood-red sun;
won’t you feel the guilt?
stab a woman with every flower you pick,
but you will only feel more homesick.
its purity and kindness,
now open and bleeding.
never to yell, scream,
or punch back,
but to use the fall,
use the blood, hurt,
and loss
as a song to sing to the night sky.
you beg the same sky to name you savior
yet so easily you neglect my favor.
when you rip the purity
and kindness from
a woman of earth
do not tell her
to stay in at night,
for she is called
by the moon
and like the tide,
she must obey her mother’s wish.
though her little sister in soil
has no will to fight,
a woman of earth will laugh,
kick, and claw
as you beg for control.
it must be easy to find luck in a Power
that has no faith in a flower.
above the ground, with hands
and petals, bellies and stems,
she keeps an immortal beauty
from the obedience of the betrayal.
though the cycle will continue,
may there now be few.