Cry, baby

Thank you, velvet ribbon of time, for finally ending April; I cry more in that month than in any other, and it is piteous, and awkward, and a defeat for all of my senses. Cruel month for a cruel girl in a cruel world. Walking beside the tall wire fence between the dirt path and the diamond, the whip-like crack of the cowhide is like a petal drifting through the air. I pause there, held fast, sneakered toes against the wet grass, hearing the scattered noise from the game. Did you know that here, in this exact spot, two-hundred years ago, the lord commanded his servants to plant a tidy square of purple-and-white irises? The key to the hydraulic press in my torso gives its regular turn. There’s a breeze coming off the river below and because only it sees my face, only it knows I am a coward. Oh, clearer waters, be tender rather than fair. I stand on the castle walls, bleeding like a stuck pig. I sow dissent now but when the soldiers return, a bannered column at the foot of the mountain,…