A Woman Possessed

her face blasted like a medieval weeper
Federico García Lorca

She remembered the charge.
A day like any other fall.
Her red shirt taunted dark shapes
in the street. The loud report
when that half-smile,
turned loose to goad the gusty animal,
stepped out to meet what waited.
She wanted to cast her body on the horns
of that forgetful season.
Black sounds hurtled from the chute.
The crowd looked on.

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