What greater burden, What more unconquerable revolt is there, Than that of a resurrected woman? Ripe with vengeance, I termite. Tomorrow, I will button my blouse with a dozen kitchen knives and Cast your dreamless skulls into the funeral soil. And that’s just breakfast. I own my blood. What you borrowed, I will come back for. Write your name on a coffin nail then bind it in hair and wax. An ungentle ceremony for your ungentle hands. Oh Captive, my Captive, I have coined your suffering song, I’ve written you back into your hellish light. Let the drilling of the worms be your only sermon. The wasting of your flesh my salvage song.
Rachel McKibbens (from “Bruja’s Soliloquy”)












