Monday, June 14, 2010

Joanie on the Pony

Ace of Swords


We’ve all been burned, waking with the vision and the need to
Hunt the one who must hear, petition at the gate, battle
Inquisitors, don improper garments, shatter the strategy.
“Sire, this is your sign, take it.” And my hand closes on air.
Pulse race slowing, the sword’s weight palpable still on my palm.
Escape equates to heresy. With heralds and hoofbeats we
Rush into engagement, but the voices that guide us don’t shout.

The ones who hang out drumming and hooping on Sundays will get this one. I've always wanted to do something with some of her trial narratives, maybe sometime. A close initial reading might reveal an unexpected gift. After she jumped out of the tower that time, they told her another escape attempt would mean an automatic conviction of heresy. She replied that wanting to escape was perfectly reasonable.

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