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Lower the flags;
she approaches

clasping a cloak
red with clay and

blood from battle
deep in the valley.

A broken shield
wants to glint

in the sun,
downtrodden by hooves

mindlessly collapsing
carefully shaped steel.

Armistice of ash and oleander
for the villain slain

hovering still over
bodies living and dead

with no reprieve offered
for the victorious hero

who also requires a pyre
adorned with white and brambles.

Leather groans at the sight
of hands drifting toward

release of ties that bind
the maker to her tools.

Hoist the flag;
the hero will not die today.

 

Bonnie Stinson writes about feminism, travel, identity, and trust. When she is not writing, Bonnie is either baking, watching films, or designing installations.

Favorite poets: Walt Whitman, Warsan Shire

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