of tall green grass,
made bone-bright by the sun.
My sisters and I,
scrubbed virgin clean,
walk in silence.
Our hair tightly braided and coiled at our necks.
The wool of our dresses scratches our skin.
Holding bundles of purple heather,
stem to flower, flower to stem,
we make a circle.
Chanting, we move to close the ring.
But then we hear the horses’ hooves, and then we see the flags.
The men come, and we flee.
The flowers are lost in the grass.
On another day, on another night,
we will try again,
we will persist till we succeed.