Zahra has a spring

in her step despite

the bloodstains on her tunic.

Tell me of your

handsome officer.

Color rises in her cheeks.

I’ve no idea

what you mean.

Come now.

I need

distraction.

She tells me

the things they have

in common, though

he’s something like royalty

and she of lowly traders.

Perhaps, the battle over

he would take Zahra

to a land not ravaged by

one hundred years of war.

Or build a life with her

in France, where she would be

an officer’s wife and no one’s servant.

Either way

I cannot bear the thought

and yet it’s all I want.