AB – A Poem

My father used to say
I have a good head on my shoulders,
Full of Latin and French.

My mother used to spur me:
'Find a man – she said –
that treats you like a queen.'

My brother and sister –
What can I say?
They are my blood and tears.

He – now, he did not say much.
He saw me and
Made me doe.

But I – I am woman
with a good head on my shoulders
Full of words and God,

With a crown that does not fit.
Oil on my forehead that stinks of corpse,
Orb and sceptre at hand.

The child in my belly cries.
I can feel her fingernails
Against my walls.

'My child,
We are both trapped.
I said no – but he said yes.

I am sorry.'

It is a good thing in the end
I got to leave
In a barge.

I have no tears.
So I stand straight,
With my good head on my shoulders

And with such a little neck!