My Mad Woman

Gathering in silence my armour of anger

I prepare to war

My mad woman,

Locked up in the mind-attic now.

Armies of another time, place, gather

Ranging the fringes of childhood, innocence

Of a faraway self who is not I

But grew up to be me.

Now, far beyond reproach is she,

I merely question

The accidents or dreams

That led her to be.