Poems by Rose

Terms of Surrender

 

You march from ruin straight to newer ground,

before the smoke has settled from the last;

you plant your flag where softer soil is found,

then call it strength to travel twice as fast.

 

You pitch your tent. You praise the peaceful place.

You swear this soil is safer than before.

But every border bears the boy you chase—

still searching for the country lost to war.

 

You seek a nation sworn to never close,

a shore that shelters every scar you bring;

a field that flowers though you scorch the rows,

a flag still flying while the bullets sing.

 

So every woman turns to proving ground:

Will she withstand the warning and the wound?

Will she stay standing when the shots resound?

Will she call silence peace when peace is ruined?

 

You test the walls.

You test the gate.

You test the tenderness you claim to crave.

You push until the hinges strain with hate,

then curse the door for choosing not to cave.

 

And when she leaves, you name it mutiny.

You call her border proof she never cared.

You christen caution disloyalty,

as though enduring fire were love declared.

 

But I was never territory won.

No captured country. No compliant state.

I stood beside you freely, soldier—one

who offered peace, not passage through my gate.

 

I gave you grace.

I gave you ground.

I gave you every gentle thing I knew.

But grace was never license to surround,

and love was never leave to march straight through.

 

No friendly fire.

No fury dressed as fear.

No sharpened word made harmless by remorse.

No breach by breach, then asking why I veer

when every warning turns me from your course.

 

Perhaps you chase the first flag never flown,

the first safe shore that should have called you son;

perhaps each woman briefly feels like home

until the oldest battle has begun.

 

But I cannot become that missing land,

nor mother every mercy you were due.

I cannot bleed obedient where I stand

to prove that I can love the child in you.

 

Because I did love you.

 

Just not as law.

 

Not like a homeland bound to bear your harm.

Not like the first embrace you should have known

that held through every hunger, hurt, alarm.

 

I loved you with a treaty.

 

One demand:

 

Respect the border.

Honor what was mine.

 

You crossed it anyway.

 

So understand—

 

I did not lose the war.

 

I left the line.