You Silence the Rabbis
Roll away the stone and
she rises. Wrestled her brother
two long days, two long nights
to claim his place in the sun.
Incandescent, she wears her
winding shroud like a gown
her small feet pierced and bare.
Would you drink her hot milk
suck her devilís teat (the villagers
will call you mad) for want of
something strong and sweet?
Ask for wind to wipe the caution
from your face? Feast on her
and taste that which god denies?
Her brotherís mother cries.
Beats her breast to red. Old men
mutter, their sacred writings lose
luster. You sip her milk and soar.
First GRIST On-Line publication, December, 1996.
© 1996 Jennifer Ley
This poem will be/has been published in Minotaur.