Jeanne d'Arc

This is a poem I have to perform.



Jeanne d'Arc
by Susan Ludvigson


To be chosen--


my small body rejoices
at the words,
encases itself in silver
more lovely than silk.

Not to stay in the village
and marry the miller,
his babies heavy in my arms
as loaves of bread--

not to be God's bride
dressed in the long black robe
I've secretly names a shroud.
needing always to chasten myself
for my shimmering dreams--

but Christ's innocent mistress,
Lily of war!
Still, I can scarcely believe
how each time I speak
the sky brightens.

When the voice first came
from behind the dark trees
I sat for a long time, trebling,
Now my skin
burns, imagining how it will be,
the horse between my thighs,
a thousand men behind me
singing.