(i)
even as a murderess she held a certain nobility -
never brought a gun to a swordfight,
never shied from loudly announcing herself
a knock
a streak of yellow
never accepted she shouldn't be bestowed something priceless.
and so i believe there is a Beatrix Kiddo
whose killer maternal instinct could reconcile the fact
that everyone is someone's child.
but that nature requires a nurture
where there are no triggers pulled tense against their springs at a church service,
no old men curling baby hairs behind ears as
some unbreakable vow
some staked claim
no learning lovers can destroy one another with the press of a few fingertips.
there will still be unresolved injustices - it is the world, after all.
but if Beatrix Kiddo is to be more merciful
so too must her circumstances.
(ii)
even under softer stimuli,
when she's activated?
i still imagine the room fades on the periphery.
she strides into some third-world streetside dive, whipcracks echoing off her heels,
nears the throat of the lead she's chasing and draws her Hattori Hanzo -
a finely tuned, custom-crafted, Japanese steel
pen.
her adapted method of exposing what she knows to be the truth
slicing fearlessly through the silence
direct eye contact
directer questions
digging up all they've buried
pressing the barrel so hard the ink bleeds onto the next sheet.
the result - a venomous, front-page skewering;
she's found a way of dismantling someone with her fingertips in this timeline too.
Beatrix Kiddo reformed
will not roar or rampage her way to revenge,
no.
she will be precise,
she'll exact it.
musée 