After dinner Isabella walks me

through the grounds, this refuge

where we’ve grown and healed,

tissue reforming, stronger than before,

prepared for the next battle.

Are you ready?

I wish she wouldn’t ask.

If I consider it

I might change my mind.

You do not

have to go.

I shake her off,

walk more quickly.

Philippe thinks

the very idea

is a joke.

Your brother should know better

with you for a sister, but

he would have to care enough

to look past what the world

has told him of women.

Do you excuse him?

Of course not.

We walk in silence.

I wish

I could know

your baby.

My baby will know you

come what may.

My baby will need

stories of warrior women

who fight for justice

with word or sword

and yours will be

the first she learns.