The prisoner emerges from the hellish pit of jail
Her hands are chained by the blood she has shed
Her petticoat is ripped like the families she destroyed
and her bones rattle as she walks to her determined death
She keeps her head down through the village’s bounty
Her red eyes are covered by her shield of filthy blonde hair
Weak inhabitants watch her strut towards the Hanging Tree
Listening to her moan eerily, every step of the way

I was supposed to stay inside, confined by my husband’s word
Drinking tea and reading with my legs crossed
and my hands folded,
Nonetheless, my curiosity pulled me into the dusk dim light
to witness the brutality of murder
With my parasol in hand
I had exited by safe haven,
and followed the sound of clinking chains
and the jacked policemen
whose malicious laugher echoed over through the land

The prisoner seems content with her faith
She does not seem to fight against the wicked eyes of death
She just ambles towards the murderous tree
Her shoeless feet slapping the ground like a drum
as she prepares to walk through the iron gate of the afterlife
like the many before her
She will be strung up with a collar of rope, like a puppet,
for the whole village to see
She will then be a symbol,
A reminder of what happens to those who step out of line

Once we plow though the boundaries of our village,
we proceed up the flowery knoll, the home of the Hanging Tree
My heels were not made for climbing up towards the stars
and my parasol threatened to leave my finger tips to dance in the bruised sunset
My eyes perceive to notify me that I am the only woman beside the prisoner
and my heart starts hamming against my chest
I turn to look at my village that is lit against the darkening sky,
only to conclude I have entered a man’s world
and murder is a tool only used by men

Once they got to the top, the policeman’s hands flew to the prisoner’s wrists
I heard the faint click of a lock
and the rattling of the cuffs as they tumbled into the flowery knoll
She was then lead to the Hanging Tree’s brittle base by the policeman’s meaty hands
That’s when the brazen cries from the men around me burst open,
showering the flowery knoll with inhumane screams
that skinned these men from their humanity
The Hanging Tree became a theater,
gushing with anticipation and stimulation, 
screaming reverberation though the crisp chilly air,
along with venomous chants
as the prisoner was thrown on a step ladder
I watched in horror as a policeman placed the ringed rope around her neck
I took a step back away from the Hanging Tree,
but my eyes were still glued to the mangled prisoner that was caked in dirt and sadness

The policemen asked the prisoner if she had any last words,
any sins to let out into the flowing air
before she was carted into the black mouth of death
She did speak up,
but no one could hear her
The men just laughed at her,
cursing her for her silent tongue
before the policemen lunged at her
and tore her mane of blonde out of her eyes
so the world could see her face before she died

The prisoners’ last words were, “I am innocent,”
and everyone cackled at her response,
holding their bellies and waving their arms in the air
However, while the cluster of men spat distasteful names at her,
I started into the prisoner’s soul and saw a girl
with a small destructible fame made of glass,
a heart shaped face smudged with abandonment,
and two crystal blue eyes that were as clear as water
and shimmering with purity and innocence
I wanted to shout out to her,
tell her to flee away from the necklace of rope that was tighten around her neck
and secured her fate with a simple knot

My voice, nevertheless, was a block of ice in my throat
and someone had grabbed me from behind
taking my parasol from my tiny hands
It was my husband
He had emerged from the cloud of shrieking banshees
for the purpose to drag me back home where women belonged
He scolded me for disobeying him
and embarrassing him scarlet at the Hanging Tree’s doorstep
He slapped me across the face as he screamed my name
Over
And
Over
Again
Jessamine!
Jessamine!!
Jessamine!!!

Rumors of evil had branded this girl as a demon
that craved blood
and had a longing to burn our churches to a field of hoary ash
They had said the girl’s eyes were red,
but the only red eyes I saw was my husbands’
as he dragged me by my corset down to our faithful village

I tried to look back at the flowery knoll that housed the Hanging Tree,
but it was dark now
The men and the girl were just shadows from the pale white light of the moon
and disciples under the stars
Before the girl died, I heard her scream,
and afterwards, I heard a party erupt from the flowery knoll
My signification of her forbearing death

I never went up to Hanging Tree again
but it haunted me in the lidless eyes of my forsaken nightmares
I saw many dirty women climb up to the Hanging Tree,
but none ever returned back to my village

The girl’s eyes never parted from me
They left footprints on my soul,
and every time I closed my eyes, I would see her innocence pleading for me to save her
The girl would tell me in my dreams that I would be the next soul to slip though life’s fingers
Because this was a man’s world and I was just a woman
bound by petticoats,
jewelry,
and confinement that could snap a neck