The task at d’Verse Poets was to write a narrative poem. I might have gotten carried away (but I did cut out about fifty words), but I also write novels, so this is about as short as I could go. I might have also seen about thirty minutes of the Kavanaugh hearings this evening, so it might have influenced me. Just a little. Maybe.
Standing before my maker
at the pearly gates
to tell my story, seek entry to
happiness forever after,
only need to make the cut.
Life flashed before my eyes;
No worries came to mind.
St. Peter smiled and motioned
me to follow to the interrogation,
questioned on my choices.
No, I was not perfect;
but I tried to be good.
I entered humbly expecting
my maker in all His glory,
I peeked meekly at my Judge
my great surprise–a court room,
angry, roiling men and a long list–
questions waiting to be asked.
One glared through ancient
glasses, held on his face by
numerous wrinkles. Pointing a
skeletal finger, asked me,
“How could you lose your virginity
as a teen? You were supposed to
wait for your wedding night.”
Shocked, I felt blood that no longer
flowed through my veins rising in my
pale cheeks as the moment returned to me.
I stammered, “I didn’t mean to. He didn’t
give me any choice. I was scared.”
The whole heavenly host tsk, tsked;
shook their heads as if I were making
it up. How could they disbelive when
standing before the highest court?
One chubby old man in the back
piped up, “Well, you shouldn’t have
been wearing that skirt. It was way
too short. You should have expected it.”
Another shook his head in disbelief,
“Well, why didn’t you tell someone.
Then we might be able to believe you now.”
Their eyes glowed red;
My mouth went dry.
I cried out, arms raised before me
seeking deliverance from painful
memories being pounded
into my present, my eternity;
“I couldn’t! I couldn’t!”
“Because you asked for it,” spat the youngest,
gray and wrinkled. “You’re all alike,”
he mocked with open enjoyment,
a cat playing with its mouse.
Sobbing, dropped to my knees;
they pressed in upon me,
uttering epithets close to my ear,
“whore,” “slut,” “you vile creature!”
Hands pressed to my ears
trying to block them out.
“We’ll keep asking you these questions;
you have to give us a better answer.”
Their anger palpable, feeding upon
the fear, oozing from my core,
tucked there so long ago.
A secret I vowed to carry to the grave;
wishing for the strength to speak out,
my personal hell on earth
followed me beyond death
to haunt my forever after.