Water From Home
There was a smudge on the mirror
where she’d banged her head last night
Her breath rasped, her eyes dry and heavy.
(Men are scared of women – and they should be.)
In the shade beside the creek
he licked at her wounds
looking up from his work to gauge her reaction.
Spring rains filled the creek bed
He washed his hands, then leaned in for a kiss
(There is no one born wise.)
Light spread, washing shadows
She released his hand
and fell to the earth, heavy with
the bright hot shape of human blood.
He let the air out in a long, slow breath
Sometimes words are braver than all fighting.