One young woman standing bound to a wooden beam
That points at the sky like an accusing finger
She feels the flames licking at her feet
But she feels only contentment
Despite the screams that are ripped from her throat
Because she knows that her lover escaped
An old woman sitting in a rocking chair
Watching the grandchildren play on the lawn
She ponders another batch of cookies
As she stands, she feels a sharp pain in her breast
But she feels only contentment
Despite the upward rushing of the wooden floor
Because she lived to see her grandchildren
A mother-to-be lays in bed staring up at the stark white ceiling
She pushes and pushes, bringing life into the world
And as the girl-child comes forth
It is not the screaming of a new life that she cries
But instead the scream of the last life ended
As she is wrapped in warm, dry clothes
She feels only contentment and allows herself to forget
Worlds Woven 