Text

i was like bluebeard,
in a way, the small
room of the chateau
of my heart locked
against entry. the blood
of past swain etched
into the walls.
for now, his breath a
warm stain against my
neck as he whispered the
nonsense of lover's.
the same words that
made me feel as if i
were circe, caught on an
island, entwined with
the ever-leaving lover.

a man once called me
an houri, black-eyed
and pure. the jinn could
not touch me, neither
could he.

i was no cheap woman
from samora, drunk
amongst piggish men,
coins at her feet and
in her eyes, her legs
ever-open. padre nuestro,
que estas en el cielo. the
words that always got me
were perdona nuestras
ofensas como nosotros
perdonamos a los que
nos ofenden.

i never forgot and i never forgave.