We met at the farm at sundown.
Not even the shade felt for us.
Its own primitive remarks
a medulla for us to fall under.
The Lilith, or the Medusa
chiming in for the stoning.
They were heavy in the hand
but not so that it was impossible
to fully wield, or hold soft in the palm.
Frost was on the grass, hay stood
irritated to our fury, ignorant
of what we brought to the land.
I laughed, the rigor
on the side of the boat shook
as a wave hit the edge of the ground
I quivered in my boots, only seventeen.
Soon enough I’d be the one looking
at the new crop yield their young
murmuring, we hear the first stone
strike flesh, faults are for these times
when the body knows it has gone too far.