Like an old house leaning into the wind,
This forest groans.
A branch snaps nearby.
Closer still, a match.
Grandfathers fall, uprooted.
Once more, he says.
Once more renounced, he says.
Once more denied, he says.
What’s the worst they could do?
Kill us again? he says.
Old Mother bites her thumb.
A crutch, a crutch, she says.
Hand me my spade, she says.
Go dig me a new husband, she says.
Better yet, a wife. A fighter.
Just don’t cry, she says.
They’d love to see that, she says.
They just would.
No strangers to overtaking.
To civil disobeying.
You dish it out but can’t take it.
Without prior, informed consent
Or commitment.
You put paid to rights
In the middle of the night,
And lit an old house on fire.
I hope you’re happy, she says.
I hope you’re fucking proud.
Remember who struck this match, she says.
Remember who struck this match.