She begins to recite
a confession, of sorts.
INCONCEIVABLE ACTS OF VIOLENCE
Sometimes I am gentle
As I pluck and strip the weeds
Not for their sake
But for the benefit
Of those who live beside them
So it does not discomfit them
When we extract their neighbors.
Besides
If they are softly taken by the roots
The weeds will lie down to die in the sun.
But if they are shredded apart by force
They will be filled with hope and fury
And will come back again and again.
Is it better to die once gently and be forgotten
Or scream, and bleed, and curse, and haunt?
Is it better to kill once sweetly and try to forget
Or kill, and die, in roiling consciousness
Over and over forever?