2 weeks ago


Joy I wasn’t taken

Joy I wasn’t taken unaware at loom or prayer, despite the way you see me posed. The days of blood, my first, had passed although some traces of confusion from the women’s explanation still remained, like stains from roses dried between the sheets. O the freedom from the bindings, from the need to walk so slowly meant my body was my own again though not the same. A single strip of linen from the bolt that I’d been given swayed within a rhythm as I moved around the room: It was my turn to dust.

The curtains seemed to breathe as though to partner me in such exuberant display. But no that wasn’t it. A figure stepped between them and I blushed to mime the warning. He had broken our taboo. Then the room seemed replete with an ether of energy, wooing me jealously, breathing the universe into my innocence speaking of mysteries beyond the unknown. Love needed flesh and so I answered, answered yes. We slept beneath the tent of YHWH through the night. No questions asked and no regrets.