Sisera Poem by Michael Schmidt

I was simply asleep.
There was a sound in my ear -
A form moved in my tent,
A hammer and a spike.
The spike pricked my brow
And then the hammer fell.

I feel the years. Impaled,
I lie within my tent.
My army dies, the flies
Have come and gone away.

I know who she was.
She may return. I lie still
And do not speak or cry.
I let her do her will.
My name is Sisera.
I will not say her name:
She may still be alive.