Off the Coast

SAINT JOAN OF ARC 

        Patron Saint of martyrs, captives, military, and women soldiers

Not sometimes, but always and for eternity, women
have wished men killed and promised to do it. 

They’d feast all night on the tongues of hogs
if they believed the Devil’s potions didn’t ensure Hell. 

I’m the accomplice to God’s wrath— 
His visions pour into me like a clear glass of liquor; 

my throat turns to steel when I speak his name— 
nothing burns through this armor. 

I’ve never killed a man, but I’ve watched
blond hair mop blood on a battlefield

and I won’t be judged for it, not on earth
or in heaven. You think I need frills of lace

to be whole? I don’t even need this body— 
I’ll be remade in miniature statues

with shields and my spirit will bless the shrines
of female soldiers and the ones you call crossdressers. 

You’re so focused on burning me, over and over, 
that you don’t notice when God’s globe

of fire illuminates the horizon and the wind
gives wings to your swarm of lies. 

Soon, everyone will hear of what you did. 
My hair sparks until it turns to smoke

and all my bindings dissipate: skirt, body, rope.