To the Doctor Who Wandered into Our Village

No one is in pain. We don’t

need you. We want you. The violets

dripping from your crowned hair. The wine

you weep. Your blush when we ceremonied

ourselves to death and back. The way

your mangled body rebirthed from out

of the wolf’s mouth. How you crawled, stumbled

and broke into a run.

When we found you again in the woods, how we rejoiced.

How tenderly we laid you in the slit belly

of the bull slaughtered on your behalf.

Take account of this tenderness.

You must stay. All the cats in the hollow house

on the hill speak your name. The trees rip themselves

up to follow you, but footless they fall and lie

still with longing. The women drag busted bags

of black salt around your room and the boys

grow their teeth long to eat the little beasts

that scratch at your door. If you leave,

what will we do? Beautiful as you are,

we will be desolate. You cannot do this

to us. Healer that you are, you will stay.



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V. Navarro is a poet from Tampa, Florida and received her MFA from the University of South Florida. She is currently pursuing a doctorate in Communication from USF where she focuses in performance studies.

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