The Mighty Huntress

Wolves howl for her pain.
Cries of empathy rise up from the wild.
A black night painted by blood stains;
she is God's gentle child.

She refuses a show of weakness.
Teeth tear at a soaked rag in her mouth.
Skill of an actress, age thirteen,
bought naked off an auction block in the unholy South.

Fine steel fire runs in her veins.
She comes from strong women.
Those who survive being mules,
of flesh owners that call themselves men.

Mama Sully petted her,
"Now, chile, you do this right,
make young master proud
wit a big handsome boy tonight."

No! No baby every year til she rots,
then tossed like trash after sufferin and strife!
She would escape chains of brutality.
This would not be her life!

In her heart lays a sweet meadow,
a clean spring runs, God's creatures live.
She had been beyond the house of chains.
A free world; one to cherish, to give.

She saw her sweet Ma die young looking old.
Learned well to bear pains and fears.
This babe be snatched outta her arms.
She would bear a torn heart, hold scalding tears.

Her proud blood ran so hot it steamed.
Cruel men will die horribly, her gift of sight fulfilled.
Meaness breeds meaness.
They must pay for innocents killed.

She is the Mighty Huntress,
tamed the wild, found spun kindness in trees.
The wolves rest quiet now.
Her next child will be born free.



By Kathie Stehr
edited 2012