The male is the aggressor
even in a birdbath full of sparrows,
mounting, determining what, when, going after
all that shouldn’t be his
more than another’s.
The only way for a woman to be
is to live alone, liberation
just too high a hurtle
with the man there, history being
a pile of tree trunks on our donkey backs.
Copyright © Elizabeth Arnold
Used with the permission of Flood Editions.