Drusilla's Retreat

There with her gun she stands
Watching all the men march by
Her fingers itching at the trigger
Just one little movement
And a blast would rip out of the barrel
Ripping perhaps into one of these men
These men who have betrayed her
But she does not fire
She stands straight with
That ladylike smile
Watching as they retreat
With their holey shoes
Their tattered pants and worn shirts
While she is compressed into the skirts
The ribbons and soft colors
She yearns for the bandages wrapped
Round their heads
She wishes for the calluses
Covering their hands
Oh, to have dirt in her fingernails
And bruises on her arms
She laments all this silently
They must not know her desires
Only the gun knows
Her innermost wants
Her dreams of battle,
That is to say, of freedom
Freedom to sit around a fading fire in rags
Freedom to curse and sweat and be filthy
Freedom to feel blood pour down her middle
After an enemy's bullet has found its mark
These are the sweet images that haunt her
That taunt her each night
Come with us, Drusilla
They whisper like honey
Come with us and fight
Life is not yours until it is at risk
They whisper and whisper
You are no lady, you are captive
Which she is
She does not stand
She hangs from chains
Locked on her smooth wrists
She holds no gun
But a needle and thread
And all of those men
Her one-time comrades
They did not betray her
They simply sent her back to her nest
Only now, she carries her dreams with her
Like a gun in her arms
Her fingers itching at the trigger