Inspired by Sharon Rose Wilson’s interpretation of Margaret Atwood’s novel, The Handmaid’s Tale
beneath her hood—
there are beasts and men and Eyes out there.
She must follow the path—
no time for kissing the flowers,
remember you aren’t a little girl anymore.
You are a woman.
You are a patriot.
She fills her basket
with eggs and bread and cheese—
Make Grandmother proud.
At night, she opens her legs to the wolf,
wishing her thighs had blades
like a wood-cutter’s ax,
that she might shear
or castrate him;
she wants to see him naked,
tail between his legs.
She wants to laugh.
When morning comes,
she dons the cape again,
shivering as it cascades
over her body.
They think she hasn’t noticed
that she wears
the color of blood.