Martyr

Father, I lie alone...
they think me dead in mind--
my sanded mouth, vinegared lips
tells them nothing--
their mangled wheel, my stretched skin--
blow after blow tells them nothing.
Legion hovers, ravenous vultures,
they delight--a spine snaps somewhere--
their moist voices, room trembles with their chill--
another limb crackles, he kisses...wipes me fresh--
air's alive, stench of their truth, my good bones--a trophy for their hearth.
They free me; I go, raising my withered claw in benediction.
Aglow, see the cleaving light through swollen clouds;
my downpour of heretic blood swallows the bleary inferno.





Note: Anne Askewe was a leader in the growing Protestant movement during the latter reign of Henry VIII. Anglican statesman discovered that she had many sympathizers among the aristorcracy, including Katherine Parr, wife of the aging King. Hoping to extract important names, Lord Chancellor Sir Thomas Wriothesley and Solicitor General Sir Richard Rich racked her in the Tower of London before burning her at the stake. She revealed nothing, even after they broke every bone in her body.