Michal

I loved him, once.
My father used my love
To snare him, and
Named his price of
100 Philistines.
He paid 200,
With a smile,
And my
Father was afraid.

I loved him, once,
When he held me
In his arms, when
Our love was one.
The night of the spear,
I eased him through
The window, to
Escape my father’s hate.
My father gave me
To another,
Breaking one contract
To forge another.

I loved him, once,
When he forced me back
To his household,
When he was king.

But that day,
That day the ark returned,
That day of processions
Of priests and lyres,
Of officials and clanging cymbals,
Of king in linen dancing
In the street,
That day I died.

I saw my husband, my
Lover, the one
Who took my father’s crown
For his own head,
I saw him dance,
Not as a king might
But as the drunken peasant
He was, with
The other peasants,
The other shepherds
Dancing with him.

That day,
Embarrassment
Became shame
Became anger
Became fury
As cold as
Any sharp stone,
A jagged edge of hate.
My one desire was
To aim my father’s spear.

That day,
I let him see
My anger-flash,
My spit of contempt
With its tongued
Dagger point.

And now I sit
In this room,
Daughter of a king,
Wife of a king,
Surrounded by gold and
Fine cloth and
Wine and servants.
I sit in this place,
Waiting for his
Voice, his
Touch, his
Love.
No child I carry;
Only gall in my stomach.
I wait until I die.

But I loved him, once.