You call me Jerusalem.

You told me to feel ashamed

And not to open my mouth

So hear my thoughts.

You say

My heredity is indisputable.

Like mother, like daughter:

I have my mother’s talent.

And my fickle father’s

Depravity.

My Benefactor,

You passed by the open field

Where I lay writhing in my own blood

Spewing from my mother’s rift,

With the umbilical cord running still

Back to my indigenous pools.

Yes my malformed gender

Had been exposed there to die,

And you were compassionate enough

To calm down my agonized extremities.

Thank you.

You fashioned my body.

You made me beautiful.

You passed again by my dwelling

When my hair was grown.

You made me yours.

My Husband,

You washed away my blood,

You covered my nakedness

With your skirt, silk, linen,

Fine embroidery.

You put a crown on my head

And a jewel in my forehead.

You gave me earrings

And a ring through my nose.

You put a chainlet around my neck

And bracelets on my hands.

You left my ankles untied.

You left again

And would come upon me

When it pleased you.

Yes there were others

As lowly as my blood

Who would come over me

When it pleased me.

It pleased me a lot.

My Husband,

It does not take presents,

It takes presence

To tame a heathen name.

You see

You left the cord intact.

You could never make yourself

Bow to cut it.

I had to use my own teeth.

But I harvested and stored

My stem cells.

My Lord,

Speak up,

Do call my name.

Kiss my navel,

Love our shame.

Jupiter! Silvana Orel Kos