Awaiting Esther
He wants another wife. He wants my head–
the one I wouldn’t bare before his friends
to cap their drunken revels at night’s end–
to be exposed to pecking birds instead.
Now that I’m free to spit into his face–
Nebuchadnezzar’s granddaughter’s not a peasant
woman bred for slaughter or a present
to dispel an upstart king’s disgrace–
send Esther to me. Send her. I will tell
her how to bend him, how to make her Jews
safe from him. She mustn’t think I lose
by dying. It’s a gift to choose your hell.
I hope the sword is sharp. I hope my blood
stains everything. He comes? No? She comes? Good.
I’m catching up, and I have read all of these. They are wonderful. I think you are on your way to a book.
I was lucky, Julie. Go for love, but if there are warning signals, pay attention. But anyhow, I’d say go for it; it’s better to make a mistake than to do nothing.