locked in a fight
to the death
she
would
win
on her own terms
not before a marathon of sparring rounds
she was too conditioned
her body beaten into everlasting strength and submission
for
any
other
outcome
many before her have duked with Life
they were bested, beaten down
worn down
ground down
grooved and weary faces told of every blow
leathered hands showed every feeble swing
but the only tail of woe
on her young face
was of an ill-kept corner
no one ready at the toll of the bell
to help
to bolster
no shoulder rub
no advice
no water
her face told the brutal reality
in the end, not even
her own cells, her own genetic frameworkers
were on her side
they trained her by accident
never seeing her
or their own hands swinging
toughening and hardening
without intent.
they sold her
down the river
too far
but she could read the stars
but she could sing the melody
hum the rhythm of freedom
chanted by the river
they reached higher up
by stepping on her crumpled body
and when Life threw a punch
the bone that had already exposed
she knew in each cell
that Life held nothing
because she'd already seen
had already survived and
she
still,
would
win.
