Trio

“There shall not be male or female barren among you.”
(Deut. 7:14)

 

“The Ceremony goes as usual.
I lie on my back, fully clothed…A mist of Lily of the
Valley surrounds us, chilly, crisp almost.  It’s not warm in this room.”*


This is not rape, yet there is no ardor.
I made decisions.  Here
I lie.  Horizontal totem pole,
she holds my hands, white and disconnected.

I made decisions.  Here
I examine the white canopy separating
my hands, white and disconnected.
I am being fucked, face red and deciduous.

I examine the white canopy separating
myself from the bottom half of my body.
Arms outstretched and raw over my head
are being held by a fully-clothed woman.

The bottom half of my body
is the manufacturer of this pending product;
and being held by a fully-clothed woman.
She knows she is in control.  I am the one being fucked.

The manufacturer of this pending product,
she retains my head on her pelvis.
I am Offred and off the path,
being held by a fully-clothed woman.

She retains my head on her pelvis,
while my bottom half is being fucked,
ruby robe crumpled around my waist and silent.
I am Offred and off-the-path.

While my bottom half is being fucked.
This is not rape but there is no ardor.
I lie, horizontal totem pole,
ruby robe crumpled around my waist and silent.




“Serena Joy is arranged, outspread.  Her legs are apart…  arms are raised; she holds [Offred’s] hands, each of [Offred’s] in each of hers.  This is supposed to signify that [they] are one flesh…” *


Holding white hands, fully-clothed and static
I lie while he hums unknowingly
to himself and revolting,
smelling like mothballs and in uniform.

I lie while he hums unknowingly
holding himself up by his elbows,
not touching us, keeping        
to himself and revolting.

Holding himself up by his elbows,
we are supposed to be one.
I feel the bone of my hips under her nape.
He does not moan; I know he cannot allow this.

We are supposed to be one,
yet I know this is not my child.
I am not breathing.  
I feel the bone of my hips under her nape.

I know this is not my child.
Staring at the silver canopy
I want him to be finished.
I am not breathing.

Staring at the silver canopy,
my sapphire garment lays flat and crisp,
hers, scarlet, burning and crumpled beneath her.
I want him to be finished.

My sapphire garment lays flat and crisp.
He exhales long and pronounced
and I know the task is completed.
Scarlet, burning and crumpled beneath her.

He exhales long and pronounced,
and I do not let her rest,
Standing with his sanguine self; dripping,
and I know the task is completed.

And I do not let her rest.
Trickling down her leg,
it leaves a mark,
standing with his sanguine self; dripping.

Trickling down her leg,
lustrous; polished on her calf,
I cannot see it,
it leaves a mark.

Lustrous; polished on her calf
I feel it blister.
I cannot hold my breath any longer.
I cannot see the trail.




“He rests a moment, withdraws, recedes, rezippers.” *


I hum while I fuck,
keeps me focused and fully
aware of my erection.
I try to keep a rhythm.

Focused and fully-
clothed, we are not looking at each other.
This makes me nervously
aware of my erection.

Fully-clothed we are not looking at each other.
She feels dry on the inside,
like rubbing against Velcro.
This makes me nervous.

She feels dry on the inside.
I want this to be finished.
There are no flapping bellies,
only rubbing against Velcro.

I want this to be finished.
Ejaculating, I pull out of her and
leave a trail of sperm on the sheets and her red dress.
There were no flapping bellies.

Ejaculating, I pull out of her and
neither look at me
as I zip my pants, nod and leave the room,
leaving a trail of sperm on the sheets and her red dress.

Neither look at me
as I zip my pants, nod and leave the room.
I hum while I fuck—
it keeps me focused and fully aware of my erection.





*All quotations are taken from Margaret Atwood’s novel The Handmaid’s Tale

This poem appears in the 2005 Anthology
View all poems by Maia Gil'Adi