What god has joined together let no man separate.

Just who do we think we are,
pulling apart atoms
knowing accidents happen?

What god has joined together let no man separate.

But a woman—she’s not afraid of the dirty work, of elbow grease.
She is well-acquainted with being picked apart piece-by-piece.

A woman is

separate, always—she must be, setting herself apart and above.
Can’t afford to be mediocre in a room full of men; it costs too much.

A woman is

no man, given a choice
between life and death, between heaven and health.
What can she choose? What she does
she always does for the good of her crew.

Talk about hell.

What god has joined together:

let it be damned. He’s not the Captain of this fucking ship,
phaser on hip.
I am.

Joined together with every being
whose very body has been taken,
who’s ever not had a say
in what happened to them.

A woman

knows what it means to have her body disassembled
and put back together the wrong way.

A woman

knows how it feels to be left bleeding on a table
because she’s not allowed to breathe
if it means killing what could have been.

We know accidents happen.

What god would do something like that?