By Dawn Robbins, March 31, 2021

Diana, goddess of the moon,

Looks like you

Before “that man” bought you shoes.

“Pretty shoes for a pretty girl.”

 

Slender, strong, you run

Eyes to the future

Bow in hand.

 

“That man,”

That twisted imitation of a man

Kidnaps you again and again.

Even now

As you lay dying.

 

Your nurse slips morphine through your nose tube to help you breathe.

Labels your echoing nightmare with a four-letter word

P-T-S-D

“Should have told…”

“Should have told…”

“Should have told…”

Mother, sister, friend…

You bound that secret, bound your breasts.

Ran and ran and ran.

 

You can’t run anymore.

Your body won’t let you.

So tell.

Tell now.

Tell and tell and tell,

Sharpening an arrow with each telling.

 

Fill your quiver.

Grip your bow by the neck

Pull the string.

Back, way back.

Position the arrow between your arthritic fingers

And aim.

Hold steady.

Release.

Release.

Release.

 

Watch the arrow pierce the beast

that turned a child who once ran naked

Into the goddess of chastity.