It was her turn to speak
She’d not been listening
Only contemplating shape
Viscosity and malleable nature
This is the way we wash our hands
Wash our hands, this is the way we
Wash our hands
Played in her mind while
She stared at her knuckles
Red, white and blue
Veterans of war
Stripped of their medals
They called her name
She put them under her thighs
Looked up and around the shape
Subliminal therapeutic trust
The circle
She began rocking back and forth
They called her name again
Asked her to share her thoughts
“There were many many men…”
She began before her rocking stopped.
“… I came a lot.” she continued.
With the gasps she paused
She wondered
If they knew her purpose
Was to break the circle
Revealing false trust
Explicitly complicit to a rating system
Ill-shaped by emotional sensibilities
Disavowed to arcs
Refusing to stifle rays of love
Shined beyond their dotted line reach
A third time they called her name
Threatened to have her removed then
Asked if there was more she’d like share
Pulling her hands out from underneath her thighs
Turning them around she held up her knuckles
“Only that I haven’t decided if I’m the sorcerer or the stone.”