The BLTS Archive - Not a Wordsmith
by Emily S. (sabine@bellatlantic.net)

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I thought it was time to write a poem from Kira's POV, in response to
all those beautiful Odo-poems I've been reading. Also, I've been Kira
for a while, working on this piece (will it *ever* be finished) about
the Occupation, so I wanted to try my hand at her poetic voice. And,
since there's no O/K romance in my story, I thought I'd let a little
slip in here.

It's sort of a sestina, but not really. But, I decided, Kira can't be
much of a writer, so style is not so important. She's a
straightforward kind of girl, so it's not a flowery piece. And it's
not a sestina because I didn't feel like dealing with it. :)

Comments...also, pls. read my rev. story when I post it (any minute
now...!)

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I'm not a wordsmith. I break things, shatter things, don't have much
to offer in the way of building, nurturing, harvesting. I am a dead
end.

But what if I...?

When I was seven years old I held a phaser for the first time and I
knew enough not to point it at my own head. When I was thirteen,
they'd come to *me* with questions; I always have a battle plan; I'm
always ready, steely, two-feet-firm-planted  never stand with the sun
in my eyes, never duck, never run, never open myself up for anyone.

But what if I...?

When I was twenty-five I was the one asking the questions, chin-high
as I crossed the fields where my father planted like it was all the
same to me; my eyes never watered, never wavered; I never needed
anyone, never allowed anything to drown out the throbbing in my head.
It's no different this time.

But what if I...?

He stares at me and there's all this innocence in those bedroom eyes -
bottomless blue and blinking shyly at me like it's the first time.
It's not fair. His heart is on his sleeve; one nod in my direction and
I know the passion in his head. One nod in my direction but he's not
asking any questions; he's afraid he'll go too far, afraid for this
idea he's planted, afraid I'll say no. I will say no. But he doesn't
know that I'd say no to anyone.

I would say no to anyone. I can't give him the time he deserves, can't
open up my head for analysis by his detective-eyes. Can't slip out
from behind this wall I've planted. There are no more questions.

But what if I...?

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The End