Tuesday, February 06, 2018

Leda, no Swan

Where I'm not given a complaisant smirk
my mouth might be a slightly startler "O" - 
a half a 'no' that needn't count as No. 
You will deduce he didn't have to work
so very hard, to part my pretty legs.
His curving neck, my curving arm, his beak
in almost a caress against my cheek - 

no, this is not a scene, you'll say, that begs 

use of the hard word Rape. Where is the rape?
Look how the gentrle victim's dreamy eyes
register nothing more than 'vague' surprise;
those limbs suggest no effort at escape.
Ever been frightened by an animal?
Ever get knocked, sprawling flar on your back
in the senseless impact of brute attack?
Ever been winded, and hysterical?

Wings that could break your arm thrashing your chest, 

a black bill hissing in your eyes, obscene,
inhuman, spitting noises that can mean
nothing but let-me-get-it-in; you, pressed
with the weight of a foreign body on 
your guts, clammy webbed feet scrabbling to get
a purchase; two or three rough jerks; a jet
of alien slime
                                                       Don't get raped by a swan.

That's my advice. They said he was divine,

when they found me retching myself inside
out, afterwards, throwing up as if I'd 
never stop. They said, treat it as a sign 
of enviable favour. You're a myth,
now, they said; try to behave like one. Though
what I always wished, if you want to know,
was that I'd had something to hurt him with. 



                                                             - Eleanor Brown

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