Inquisition
She’s no radical.
Her secret siren choir
just draws her in
Once she gave
a confession like shattering glass
up went the torches
excommunication
priests hurling insults
children throwing stones
The next day
She stuffed her ears with rags
cloaked herself
carried talismans to shield her
crossed the ocean
Marrana in a new land
still lighting candles
still stealing kisses
behind locked doors
She’s no radical.
She did what she needed to
as did all the crafty girls before her
slipping into night
The crucifix was a lie then
It is one now —
no matter the reason
they needed it.
Yael Veitz
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