We are taught early our bodies are the first burnt offering.
Before I was Executioner, I was a girl who disappeared into the woods and returned as a woman against her will.

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Adam meets me in the stable and tells me to grab Ife, my pet goat. She pulls but acquiesces. Adam grabs my machete
and I follow. He’s always been in the background—

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my earth-father, not a shadow, but the fever of a shadow.
When we reach the clearing, he hands me the blade, points to Ife, says “Do it.” Before I can protest, Adam raises his hand to split my lip

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with such fervor the forest starts ringing.
What is blood if not a warning? What is grace if not an earth-father desperate to carve the weakness out of his daughter?

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A shame whose offer creates its own demand.
Even a threat is an offering when Adam forces me to look into Ife’s eyes before dragging the blade across her throat.

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The sad beast’s neck slurring blood and something between my legs parted.

I watched it stutter            stutter then stop.
Don’t talk to me about mercy or what I could have spared.