A er he ’ d gone , I scrubbed myself until my skin bled . As raw outside as in . I cried and laughed uncontrollably . I thought if I pretended it didn ’ t happen it would all go away . But it didn ’ t . I couldn ’ t get it , or him out of my mind . I was scared to sleep in case he came back . When I finally fell into a broken slumber I had nightmares . Again and again he was upon me , I felt him as he wrapped his wings around me , his hands touching and his fingers entering places they shouldn ’ t . I took a needle and scored my arms and legs , thinking the pain could take away the agony I felt inside . But nothing worked . Then came the nausea , the sickness in the morning . The bile would erupted , burning like a flaming sword as it rose , bitter .
When I could no longer hide the changes I fled to my cousin ’ s . I thought she ’ d understand , for it was known within the women of the family she ’ d suffered the same . It seems rapist , divine or otherwise , have no respect for age . I ’ d expected her to offer me solutions be that herbs or sanctuary , but instead , she counselled me not to rock the Ark of our Covenant , to return home , to face the music and do my duty . She told me to keep my mouth shut , for what good would it do women and girls like us us to tell Our truth .
I contracted .
As my shame grew heavy and unsurmountable , my breasts , like Abishag ’ s gazelles , rested heavily on the mount of his creation . And I wept .
They say I sang Magnificently , but they lie , for it was a Lament , one conceived in Terror and Silence .