Ellen LaFleche

say it’s any country, any day, and

say that night's dark frock is falling from a tree
and say the sound of defrocking
is the sound of a woman's white slip
slipping past her ankles and say the tree (cold and disrobed) cringes,
and say the sound of its cringing is the sound of a nude woman
covering her breasts with her fingers  (her pubis with the X of her elbows)
and say the woman is facing a squadron of soldiers, and

say the moon's pale yellow halo begins to evaporate
and say the sound of the moon’s fading halo
is the sound of the woman's braid cringing in a soldier's palm
and say the sun is pushing against daybreak's soft gray membrane
and say the sound of the membrane giving way
is the sound of gunpowder blasting from the rifle's barrel
and say the woman opens her mouth and drops

(just like that she drops) and say the sound  of dropping
is the sound of a white silk strap falling off another woman's shoulder
and say the sound of a falling strap
is the sound of a dead braid cooling in the soldier's pocket,
say.