Blazy Susan

In Gilead's grasp, where wings are clipped and shorn,
And fertile flesh becomes a state's decree,
Offred walks, in crimson cloak forlorn,
A silent prayer beneath the watchful tree.

Her gaze downcast, whispers on the breeze,
Of stolen freedom, dreams turned into dust,
The fertile fields, forbidden memories,
Haunt fertile wombs, where hope cannot adjust.

White wings they wear, a mockery of flight,
Commanders loom, with eyes both cold and hard,
Yet embers glow, defiance burns alight,
Mayday unfolds, a silent, whispered card.

A scarlet shoe, a symbol left behind,
Hope's fragile spark, on barren ground they find.