They stole my land & burned me heretic, but I did not die.
Blow to the face & the goddess of fire channeled
her way through my switchblade. I rose up, mother dragon,
& breathed my anger flat line. Touch me, I’ll be your suicide.
I’ll curse your very heyday.

Alone? Am I alone? Why yes, isn’t everybody?
1 year in the desert fighting sallow-skinned enemies, my ferocity
shone like glass shards in river water, ruminating clutter.
Feared throughout the plains and marsh lands, mediocre men
choked violent on ale at the mention of my name, desiring the taste
of my slap. For the lies of lovers rage-awake, I unleashed
wooden clubs & fists, adrenaline pounding.

This is how I came to rule the Amazons, queen honeybee,
the stinger-sword-throat-slitter. I cut off one breast to better
shoot a bow and arrow in battle & never was I more of a woman.