Now I am going
to rape you,
you joked;
after a pleasure
wrung
from me.
With playful roughness
you dragged my body
to meet yours;
on your face
the look of
mock
lust
you think
all real women
like
As all “real” women
really
like rape.
Lying
barely breathing
beneath
your heaving
heaviness
I fancied I saw
my great-great-grandmother’s
small hands
encircle
your pale neck.
There was no
pornography
in her world
from which to learn
to relish the pain.
(She was the thing
itself.)
Oh, you who seemed
the best of them,
my own sad
Wasichu;
in what gibberish
was our freedom
engraved on
our chains.