When the horse's head appears in the door, I must fight. If there is no horse, I can stay in my cupboard. But every morning, when I stop looking, it's there…

I sew a blade to a pear and roll it in the street. When it is eaten, I return to my cupboard.

I sew a bomb to a hawk and loose it in the fort. When it blasts, I return to my cupboard.

I sew a corpse to a brick and drop it in the well. When it sinks, I return to my cupboard.

I sew a rash to a rug, but no one rests under it tonight. I kill three girls before I return to my cupboard.  

This morning, the horse is so weak, it can barely lift its head. I must win the war today.

I sew a flame to a field. But my needle breaks, and I have no other. I must fight with my nakedness. Pale and porous, I crouch along the wall. I will be someone's shield, and when I drop, they will drag me to my cupboard.

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I wrote this poem after reading a historical timeline of bioterrorism.