Out of darkness, procession.
One is pulled backward
by her foot—spun.
She looks to her hands, she looks
in the dark, to the audience (always
witness to her/my/our confusion) back to
dark. She drums
drums and reaches to a voice, far off.
Her testimony wrenched
backward, spirals into a crossed
seating. Prim, minced steps
and suddenly she is sprawled forward
face to ground and scrambling
backwards (again, backwards) until
she plants her knee and turns to look
not with eyes, no, but with sternum
up. And the light.