Anna Butcher (18)
(while being sexually harassed) I turned into Joan of Arc
It was as if he held a glowing steel rod to my neck/ so the skin could crackle off into ash/ his eyes tied me to a post/ and as he spoke I could no longer move/ my hands seemingly bound to a wooden chair/ and at that moment, I knew I would burn there/ We won’t do anything that isn’t already legal/ he said/ and the flame got closer to my face/ like I would’ve touched him because he is male and he was there/ the coals raked over my body/ I wished I could move/ I wish that I had opened my mouth/ but I feared the inhalation of smoke/ how my lungs would burn like my cheeks/ like the back of my neck/ how my eyes couldn’t move from the pyre in front of me/ the way that the flames spread across the wood’s grain/ he stopped speaking/ my body near ash/ Roast me over broken logs/ dissolve my sinew into nothing more than grey flecks/ Don’t do it once/ but again/ and again/ and again/ so that I cannot be made into a relic/ we only revel in that which is unordinary/ I am used to burning now/ rake my embers/ look into my eyes//
Anna Butcher is a high school senior from Birmingham, Alabama. She has been published in Cadence Literary Magazine, One Sentence Poems, Right Hand Pointing, and Rare Byrd Review.
(while being sexually harassed) I turned into Joan of Arc
It was as if he held a glowing steel rod to my neck/ so the skin could crackle off into ash/ his eyes tied me to a post/ and as he spoke I could no longer move/ my hands seemingly bound to a wooden chair/ and at that moment, I knew I would burn there/ We won’t do anything that isn’t already legal/ he said/ and the flame got closer to my face/ like I would’ve touched him because he is male and he was there/ the coals raked over my body/ I wished I could move/ I wish that I had opened my mouth/ but I feared the inhalation of smoke/ how my lungs would burn like my cheeks/ like the back of my neck/ how my eyes couldn’t move from the pyre in front of me/ the way that the flames spread across the wood’s grain/ he stopped speaking/ my body near ash/ Roast me over broken logs/ dissolve my sinew into nothing more than grey flecks/ Don’t do it once/ but again/ and again/ and again/ so that I cannot be made into a relic/ we only revel in that which is unordinary/ I am used to burning now/ rake my embers/ look into my eyes//
Anna Butcher is a high school senior from Birmingham, Alabama. She has been published in Cadence Literary Magazine, One Sentence Poems, Right Hand Pointing, and Rare Byrd Review.