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Like Joan of Arc
by Curtis Whitecarroll

I met a woman
like Joan of Arc
with an army of men
who waited for the moments at night
when they could whisper to her like the saints did
and you knew this was God,
wrapped in the body of a woman,
and we all wanted to get to heaven
through her warm embraces
even those of us who were heretics
seeing the light with our eyes closed
seeing it with our other senses,
the smell of bare skin,
the taste of sweat
eventually,
you realized that you weren't a soldier
you were a mercenary
not to be led
even for your benefit
you felt best suited to search
for temporary sustenance
leaving her tied to the pyre
 

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