what else could I have done? –
I, a virgin naiad endlessly harassed
by him, my drunk immortal stalker.
no water nor the treetops offered haven
from the fire of his lust.
you try and outrun a god.
I couldn’t, so I didn’t. instead
I stopped. became a tree. pressed
my roots into the earth, and
made him feed me, all the while
thinking that he could not have me.
how could I have known? –
that still he could have me stripped,
soaked, crushed, and torn apart,
boiled and pressed and hung to dry
then cut and made to take him
after all – he, the god of poetry
of knowledge and of art
he, the god of all the things
that must be written down.
and I, the naked page.
poem (c) 2016 D. Ohlandt
please only reprint in entirety and with credit given
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