To The Naysayers

In dark hallways leading to rooms with yarn and old picture books of women unattractive all black and white on wash basins. I remember sitting in the bathtub facing east letting my white hair down speaking my language and the little brown girl watching me. I remember her hands the rosary the vessel so young and empty with eyes like an infant calf. We didn't know what else to do. Now she's awake and we're all in trouble. I saw a picture once of the rougarou. I'm a milk maid in marble, a feather and booties in bronze.