The Violent Woman

Sarah your clarinet 
body squeaks at the valves, moans 
off key, and lying still 
and flat as a paper doll 
in the cool of night 
something hard as wire 
scrapes through your belly. 

I tell you now— 
it is that violent woman 
who guts out the girl, 
strips her clean away 
like pumpkin innards, rinses 
her out monthly in blood. 

Sometimes your body 
will break you like kindling. 
There is no apology 
for this. But other days, 
every limb, every cell, 
every burning atom, 
will hum like sunlight.