I was named after a well

my sister, too

after holy wells

distant from each other

we are distant from each other

our mother didn’t intend it

war is the frantic wet-nurse

running between us

we are both thirsty

we are all thirsty

there is no divine child

to make our waters holy

our waters heal no affliction

who would supplicate

at our bases, seek our waters

in parables

girls are never divine

only their mothers

but like Abraham

I ask God to show Himself

I ask in the plains

I ask in the desert

He answers me with light

He answers me with metal

tea with an iron flavor

we sell it town to town

migrants in our own wild bush

gunmetal sweat

weapon oil in the life

and luck-lines of my palm

we traverse the land

we move with shadow

we are guided by water

I ask God to show Himself

a prophet quartered birds

and waited for God

yet another was given

a hoopoe that spoke

some have war birds

they, too, look

they, too, make reports

we live in a time

machines have emissaries

but like Abraham

it’s not possible to destroy me

they try by fire and by sand

they try by metal and by verse

still I traverse my land

without a sister

with no family

not even a man

who no longer accepts

a hand on his chest

when frantic

myself, strange women

strange girls traverse

in this parable men and boys

attain godhood

they send war to run

hill to hill

well to well

war runs so fast

she loses a shoe

there is no holy child

war ran with empty arms

an empty shawl

when men and their boys

come to a frenzy

they can’t submit to anything

no thing is a kindness

nothing is a kindness

don’t touch me,

don’t look at me,

with their whole persons

no one supplicates

to frantic gods

their command has no end

it can never become story

it can never become ritual