III

We travelled, I know not where or how. 
When we stopped the world 
was as bleak and arid as the lifeless planets 
that endlessly circle the sun.
Finally, I gasped out a few words.

Long ago, long ago. 
These burnings happened hundreds of years ago.

Antoinette smiled, not a joyful smile.  
Was there tenderness and compassion?  
Or was it mostly contempt and scorn? 

Poor, sad man.
It is not just the burning, 
It is not just the acid bottle, nor the disfigured face, 
the lurking predators, the fist raised in anger, 
the belittling, cat-calling, ridiculing, 
the groping, the sexual violence, 
the covering of our faces,
our backward fearful glances,
nor the exploitation hiding in wealth and power. 
The ordinary stuff of our ordinary lives 
are the countless patronizing, condescending assumptions 
and the desire to suppress and control. 

I thought of Elizabeth and Miriam.
Then I knew I had expected their lives to revolve around mine. 
Confused, desperate, I saw the single light,
the horror of it, how it shone and illuminated 
not just that ghastly square and smoldering fire. 
Nor was it only proudly emblazoned on the embroidered capes 
of those who strutted with proud heads held high. 
Its incandescence emanated from deep within. 

I have seen the light that shines like a single eye. 
But what can I do? 
Is there a stake with which I can stab it out? 
Can it be rendered blind? 

Then Antoinette raised her hands heavenwards. 
Above her outstretched palms a stake appeared. 
Eagerly I reached for it, grasped it, 
and lifted it high to plunge it deep.