1
Cruelty is a fairy tale written on the walls of a dugout—covered in newspaper. At night you could hear the moan of the earth, a single word cut out and swallowed. White paper dissolving inside like a little moon.
2
Above the dark room,
cruelty softens, air carries the scent of sage. Horizon bends to the shape of a barrel—boards stretched so taut they might burst. You might believe there is nothing. You might.
3
But the word is still in her belly when she rises, when she begins to walk toward an escape.
A cliff.
Or a train whistle.
4
She chooses the train and it transports her to the first city. Click of heels upon pavement. Press of suited bodies against her. Her fingers bruised from the force in which she tells her word back to her typewriter.
5
Time passes. She learns to satellite from city to city. From continent to continent. Always looking as if she’s just stepped from the darkness. The wild rivers that froth past. Children pressing their staving faces against the glass. The train passes them by.
6
Cruelty was an owl perched on every post. Watching. It followed her to the ends of the earth (so to speak) and in the end the creature flew into her screaming mouth.
7
In her darkness she could still see the small room. Smell their bodies, see the red glow of the monkey stove. Feel the press of the soil, the ache of the hungry roots. The owl flew wildly against walls. Feathers snowing air—
8
It was only a body after all. Once upon a time the girl opened her mouth and the owl flew out and she emerged.
Underfoot the buffalo grass, overhead the sound of geese circling—and in her mind, the word burning.