NaPM April 17 2013

[milo]

I stand, like Ruth, amidst this alien corn
that shudders to the gentle touch of wind
and sings to me the loss of being born.

I sneak my stranger's hand to stroke a horn
and shuck it bare just like a passing friend
I stand like Ruth. Amidst this alien corn

I'm stripped and shorn, my bluebell dress is torn
and tossed to join the wind, a lover's bend
that sings to me the loss of being born.

So unlike fields of gorse and whin the thorn
that damps my legs with blood, as I pretend
I stand like Ruth, amidst this alien corn.

My mind now grazes with the unicorn,
not lying in this bend unskinned and thinned,
that sings to me the loss of being born.

Somewhere there is a field of rape unworn
I go there in my mind, I rise unpinned
and stand like Ruth amidst this alien corn
and sing along, the loss of being born.