this weaponry

you will find me some
evenings in chain-mail--

skull encased in metal 

the minute man--

twist the arrow before
you yank out the shaft--

this way you will bleed less--

my father bought me red
boxing gloves & a blue mouth piece--

flatten your breasts with
gauze the way the
moon suppresses waves

when she's ready for bed

when she's tired of
hearing sailors reaching
for her--

copper fingers--

rest your bones in
an empty green bottle

is this the first
time that you dressed like
a boy for war?

was your father proud
of the blood you managed to
dig up from

the backyard--

swing-sets into catapult--

so proud my
dormant weaponry 

& we read about the girls
in the civil war 

who swallowed gravel 
to deepen their voices--

kneeling in the dark
praying to god 

to un-sex me here

we cut our hair in the
ocean 

because the moon
is good at keeping secrets--

hold your musket ready--

grin like a horse while
they inspect your teeth--

i never questioned my
desire to fight & be fought--

the ghost throb in my
stomach where i had been
punched--

i savored the ache--

let it infect--

the will of war is contagious--
the desire to right
the wrongs 

inflicted on your body

girls: i suggest the 
bow & arrow

they won't suspect you--
their guns over
their shoulders--

& there you'll be 

cutting your way through air--

these days i keep 
a closet full of armor--

begin dressing at
the first blinks of dawn--

a shield glint in the window
behind the closed blinds--

this is the first lesson
& not being naked--

your flesh is epidemic--
is prone to bleeding if
left too long without metal

my father told me
that we don't retreat &

so when they blow trumpets
i got-- 

saint joan of arch

oh what kind of weaponous 
boys did they make us?