Read in All Existing Magazine.
After Salome by Henry Ossawa Tanner
Content Warning: Allusions to Sexual Abuse/Assault
I am your God.
Be not a prude
and follow me.
Remember these paths?
Trace the walls with your hand
so you’ll know them in the dark.
There’s a step here
to watch out for. Once
your uncle lifted you high
and promised
to gobble you up.
The hallway expands
into light and shouts— Salome,
come out here! Come, and stretch
that beautiful stomach.
There’s dark blue stains
in your underwear, but
you know that can’t be right.
Find wonder in these sinewed walls.
Tease the shaft through which
children crawl. Lean forward
so that tunic slips from your breast:
it’s important to deny
your first instinct.
Your stepfather has come to watch.
Beside your mother, he watches
the fabric drip down like it did
that night and this night and that night before.
He smiles and pats his bouncing knee
as if to beckon a dog.
An uncle opens a darkened door.
Remember his scent? For now,
shift and shimmer in candlelight.
Bounced up and down,
your body turns bauble.
Remember that I am not lost.
Now spin. Find wonder.
Tease. And crawl. And beg—
ignore that scent again.
He’s always close, but
so am I, so you’re never alone,
I promise. Salome—
it’s your God. Salome—
stick the landing. Salome—
beg mercy, and tell me how much
you love it.
You are spinning
and it’s harder than ever
to know where your body ends
and the world begins. Salome—
they know, they know you’ve grown older,
but don’t give up—reel, race, unspool
until you are only
skin and suffering—
the crowd screams. Yes, Salome.
Father’s so proud.
