To My Rapist

warning: depiction of a rape, contains context-appropriate vulgarity I woke with a start and saw you, backlit by the street light, your body climbing over my first floor patio rail 5 AM. Pacific Time. Heavily pregnant, defenseless. “Leave or I’ll call the police,” I called out, mustering bravado I didn’t feel. You left and I thought that was the end of it. Until the next weekend. I woke again with a start. This time you were inside, your back to me, checking the lock on my sliding glass door. I wanted to run and scream but I was paralyzed and silenced by pregnancy and fear. You turned around and seeing my terror, strode to me, cupped your filthy stinking hand over my mouth and showed me your knife foolishly, still believing the illusion of my invincibility, I tried to take it from you, but succeeded only in angering you as you slapped me and said simply “Don’t be stupid, bitch.” I realized in a second what would happen. You pulled me off the couch and my bathrobe fell away, revealing my swollen belly. Were you surprised that I was pregnant, or was it the reason you stalked me for weeks? Pick an easy target, one that can’t run away. cold  sickening horror like watching a movie in slow motion, with actors saying the lines... not me. “Please don’t hurt my baby,” I heard someone plead, as you put a pillow over my face and lay yourself on top of us both. I was dry and you didn’t like that. Tiring of the aimless thrusting going nowhere you got up and sat on the couch grabbing my head, you forced me between your legs as I gagged on your rancid prick Disgusted, you shoved me back to the floor, and took me painfully. please god just get this over with and leave, though nothing will ever be the same in your grunting rapture your hat fell off somehow I had the presence of mind to slide it under the couch, your hair and sweat incontrovertible evidence. Finally you finished bruises and your cum inside me the proof of crime using the knife again you cut the phone line and warned me not to seek help on pain of your return, and doing it all over again then you ran away, disappearing into the weak sunrise the police arrived dispassionately surveying the scene investigating my life, initiating a separate rape of judgment Where’s the husband? Why are you alone here? Was your door locked? What’s in this letter? Did you talk to him? Did sodomy occur? Did you shower? Did you change your underpants? We’ll take you to the hospital so more evidence can be gathered, your vagina swabbed, pubic hairs plucked, as we go through the cold, sterile motions of justice The police brought me home here’s your life back, good as new we’ll call you if we get any leads finally I am allowed to shower to scrub off the grime your hands and body smeared on me but how do I clean my soul? you took my body for a few moments big fucking deal but how can I ever regain what you’ve taken forever and how can I shed this shadow of fear and mistrust you’ve cloaked me in as I now sleep with the butcher knife under my pillow only too happy to use it if you return Written January 21st, 2002 © on Jan 21 2002 11:37 AM PST   0 • 13