crest

i went to the baptism

of the man who nearly raped me.

submerged underwater, made anew

pale in drugged fragility

i remember the cross

i bought for him

and the card

"all my love..."

what i remember most

was there was a girl

who cried

her face screwed up pink

glasses resting

on round face.

she told the crowd

her love for jesus

saved her life.

i felt a mixture of scorn and pity.

and not long after,

he made her his wife.

i wonder if she ever knew...

i was a girl in a skirt and knee-socks

fifteen, provocative, wide-eyed

innocent

and lustful.

i was afraid

and enamoured

of the heat that pulsed

between my legs

from his clothes-covered thrusts

that made his c**k sore

at the top of the stairs to the bedroom

where he lived

independent

aged seventeen.

his father was obsessed with god

and he hated that, then.

it was my fault

for being such a tease.

he vowed

to take my virginity.

it was his.

as i squirmed away

knees locked tight together

i didn't have a choice.

my heart

pounding

like a trapped animal.

i was only fifteen.

saved by the telephone,

my mother always suspicious

of what she considered to be

my freakish, animal nature

that barely concealed

sexuality

that simmered within me.

that day, she saved me.

i watched.

he asked me, later,

to come and get to know god.

but i couldn't see god

anywhere in him.