Volume 33, Number 4

The Morality Police

That sound she heard was small at first,
like the humming of bees,
low pitched, distant, deep in the earth.

And then they were upon her

Their shouts stung her, their fists
moved like wings about her
They flowed over her like poisoned honey

And their sticks drew blood

They caught her wrists, they tore her hair
Screaming, cursing, beating
They pulled her back to the hive

And when she fell to the floor, they left her

She was not their queen,
not Mahsa Amini,
not any woman, ever

—Maggie Creshkoff