The Partisan's Woman

by Brett Rutherford

1

There was a woman, wondrous fair,
and he loved her. She lived alone.
Her door was barred. Her lover last
had been a Partisan, and died
in the far-off mountains. No man
Had seen her face, or touched her since.

He came to her door at sunrise,
bleeding. He knocked until a voice,
behind thick wood called out "Who's there?"—
"One who loves you still and always.
I have killed a man, and I bleed." —

"What kind of man have you killed, now?"—
"Policeman," he stammered. "My love,
I killed an officer of law." —
"Was he a bad officer, then?" —
"Like a wolf to the innocent." —
The bolts shot free. Just one pale hand
extended a clean, white bandage.
"Go and take care that no one sees you."

2

There was a woman, wondrous fair,
And he loved her. One dusk, he knocked
until the soft voice called, "Who is it?" —
"One who loves you still and always.
I have freed ten men from prison.
Help we need to reach the border."
The bolts shot free. Both hands held out
a sack of bread and provisions.
She leaned forth and let him kiss her.
"Go and take care that no one sees you."

3

There was a woman, wondrous fair,
and he loved her. Midnight, he knocked
until she stirred and asked, "Who is it?" —
"I who love you still and always.
I have brought you the tyrant's head."
Down he hurled it on her threshold.
The bolts shot free. Into her arms
the woman took him, laughing loud.
Goblets had she, and wine a-plenty.
"Love me," she said. "Love me from now
until the day they come for us."

4

And the age of hard wars was long,
and the hunger consumed many.
The bees from the hive were absent,
and the dry nests fell from the trees.
Seas rose, storms fed the hurricanes.
Whirlwinds harrowed the empty fields.
Nights lay silent — crickets and frogs,
owls and nightingales on strike,
awaiting the high victory
of species, of each against each
and mankind against everything.

A hundred times the earth returned
to the place it thought it started.
There stood, in a leafless forest,
the partisan's woman's cottage,
a rotting skull upon its doorstep.

Nevermore did oak door open,
and nevermore were seen the man
or the woman wondrous and fair.