chase her through the dead pine
draped in her robe of nettle- pine pitch
she pulls the ceanothus from deep below

“those hips are too beautiful for these back woods” say the boys, they want to unbraid her, breed her

ceanothus bleeds blood red
fortitude
patience
marks this ally
hands like shovels she can coax it’s medicine to the surface

“mary, mary” the boys call to the five winds
they want to mount her from behind
hard
give it her
in ways forbidden
bury it in her
they want to break all the taboos

she wears the war paint to greet
the skinwalkers who lose interest when they meet her
belly to the loam, feral
their eyes leave holes in hollow logs but do not touch her
disappearing quietly back to the shadow places

coyote is laughing at them
somehow he too loves her so much

her red lips are hard to handle
allied to the medicine of the ceanothus
she is too fierce to be woman

perhaps they can bypass her contrary nature
just skim over the little bit of thunder
and reach into her bundle

perhaps