Spared the flames
I returned to Domremy
Minded my brothers’ children and their sheep
Seasons came and went
My hair changed from burnished copper to duller bronze and then to grey
Cataracts grew across my eyes
And children sidestepped the hero of Orleans –
Not that old woman with her threadbare fables of leading troops to war!
Each spring new lambs arrived
I sang them lullabies
Recounting those old battles
Where freedom triumphed
And in the greater world the citadel collapsed
The king whom I’d adored gave up our victories.
Word came to her, not St. Michael, nor St. Margaret
Word came from girls violated beyond their bearing
And so, old though I am, cloudy eyes hunting through cupboards and chests,
Yes, there is my armor, rusted from disuse
My stiff knees protest, my back jolts me with pain
But I bend my bones to my will
Pulling on the greaves
Arthritic fingers struggle with buckles and vambraces
My old horse hears the clang of shield on steel
Whinnies in a creaky voice
Stands as I find a stool,
Climbs up
One tired old leg over the pommel
And so once more to battle
— Sara Paretsky