Joan of Arc Speaks to her Mother

Mother, understand me:
One day, I will need you
to understand, like you would have if I had run away
with the farmer’s son
who lives down the road. Understand me, mother

of my youth; right from my earliest years,
when the earth still smelled
like your palms, already then,
I was not like the others.
I should have said something
—What difference would that have made?
You must have known

I only pretended to walk
by the river gathering flowers, as I know you
didn’t intend on becoming
one of those women standing in the wind
as if being dragged
by nets. I was hiding at the stable
while you were letting out the horses
into the pastures and I never once heard
the wedding march; I heard soldiers
marching and prayed they would come,
with the same words you taught me
to call back the horses, and that, if they did come,
I would find a way to leave you

a letter. Though I cannot write, sometimes
I wonder what I would have said. It was not bravery,
but curiosity that led me away.

Late at night, I often lie awake
in the stinging of winter
imagining you staring out into frayed clouds
with that bereft look you always have
when peeling oranges
in your rocking chair.

What are you thinking of?

Sometimes, mother, we defend each other
like rivals. You didn’t tell me, after all
these years, I would end up
a story. I left but I love you,
you know that, I love you, the only way
we can love today: without tears
and without mercy.