In my feminine stance, white-winged and haloed, I can never forget the first cannonballs blasted,
into what I had clearly marked, by walking the periphery, checking many times to see if wondering eyes, and blasé’ headshakes showed true understanding that this place was a peace field where there must be no more black gunpowder burns—nothing but dances and daisy’s.
I’d lived through too many civil wars on united grounds, an obedient tar-baby to hold first and fast to virile poled, surrender flags.
No, you do it!
Draw that circle in and around me because you want to join black and white, not because I laid out a square set of rules.
Photo credit: Casper Rasmussen/unsplash