gomer.

i stand here,
on this platform,
i dare not lift my head.
no beauty to find here.
i once was a crown of beauty,
men forgot their names
once they tasted mine,
tasted me,
and now i am nothing more
than a curse word,
in everyone's mouth.
my body once,
strong and flexible,
like water in the hands of
any man, slipping and
filling their empty places.
now i am blackened dirt,
jagged stones,
dried up clay,
good for walking on,
hammered into the
ground with every
unforgiving sandle.
i was once a choice prize,
the highest bidder offering his wages in gold,
just for a night spent with me,
to dip his hand in my 
golden honey,
i was rich with it once.
i was wild and brazen, 
no one could hold me.
i came and went when ever i pleased,
i was haughty and arrogant,
building my stacks of men's hearts,
their coins,
thinking my body was my greatest treasure,
with it i could get what ever i wanted,
selling it, using it,
even giving it away for free was my power, and i
relished being my own master.
no longer,
my body has wasted away,
no one would even take me if you offered
me for free,
that is how little i am worth.
i had a husband once,
believe it or not.
he called himself a
prophet,
but he was kind.
much too safe. 
predictable.
now what i wouldn't give
to sit near his safety.
at least he never tried to 
take from me.
i used to think he was a fool
for not clamoring for what every other man
would clang over
just for a glimpse of me.
but thinking of it now,
he really was 
the only one who
did see me. 
and maybe what i could have been.
i don't think that's the case 
anymore.
i ran away from him,
numerous times,
back to seeking out power in using my body
as a weapon, 
wielding it to get what i wanted. 
i was insatiable.
but i have come to ruin.
the streets are empty
and i have nothing.
not even my pride to accompany me.
i am desolate.
a barren wasteland
and i am alone.
i am cold.
i am naked in every way,
and i am weighted in shame.
i find myself back on the block.
i don't even have the strength to 
be embarrassed,
the price for me is 
far less than what i used to go for 
back when i was a shiny 
little thing.
there is not really much use for me anyways.
maybe someone will have pity on me
and i can clean out waste buckets.
or be a foot washer.
i can still get on my knees.
it's where i belong.
how i long for hosea,
the kind and safe husband i once had.
i did not always understand him or 
his God,
but he did not demand or prod.
it pains me to think now
the utter hurt i saw when he found 
i had gone back to my 
lovers.
i remember being angry. 
didn't he know
what i was when he married me?
this is who i've always been.
why would it hurt him?
i wish i hadn't done it.
he never ever did 
anything to hurt me.
only help.
only offer a gentle hand.
i have to stop thinking of him.
he will never want me now.
there are only 
so many second chances.
i burned all the bridges.
i want this block to crack open and
bury me.
God if you are there,
smite me.
i know i deserve it.
it is hot beneath this sun.
most of the other slaves have been 
auctioned off.
of course i'm still standing here,
looking forlorn and foolish.
i am so tired.
there is a sadness deep in my bones
that i cannot shake.
people walk by,
they pretend not to see me.
i can still feel them staring.
the harshest of glares.
they see me as scum.
i know what i am.
i won't look up.
i am about to collapse
in this heat. 
in this shame.
in this lonely hour.
a shadow stands before me.
do not look up.
do not look up.
"i want her. 
please give her to me."
that voice.
it cannot be.
Hosea takes my hand,
and gently leads me 
off the platform.
he covers me with the softest robe,
his breath, 
gentle and steady beside me.
my eyes are blinded with tears.
what is he doing?
is this some sort of cruel joke?
i say nothing.
how can i?
who am i to say anything?
shall i clean the troughs?
scrub the dirt off the floors
maybe try and get it off myself too?
his hand on the 
small of my back,
i would know that hand anywhere.
never violent, 
never seeking.
only protective. 
forgiving.
safe.
how could he say he wanted me?
he asked.
for me.
my heart hurts more than 
my body being torn
a 
million times over.
i stumble over the threshold
and he lowers me into a chair.
he places a bowl near 
my feet
and gets down on his knees.
he begins to wash my feet. 
gently.
softly.
i still can't speak.
he runs the rag over my legs,
rinsing away the grime, 
the dirt,
every dip on the bowl,
he is saying to me.
i love you. 
i love you.
he washes my arms. 
my stomach.
i love you.
i love you.
i am shaking.
this is not real.
he is meticulous. 
he is soft.
his leaves no spot unclean.
he stands and gently lifts me 
to my feet.
he rinses my neck.
that neck that once was taut 
with arrogance.
with pride.
he lifts my chin with a brush of his fingers,
cupping my face as if i am the 
most delicate thing in the world.
far from it.
he is patient.
i can barely lift my eyes
to meet his.
great is my shame.
great is my sorrow.
great is my fear of forever being 
unloved. unwanted.
and there is he is.
my beautiful husband Hosea.
his eyes tender, 
filled with the most loving kindness 
i have 
ever seen.
ah, how my heart is shattering
and alive.
"you are home, my beloved."
i have never in my life
known a love like this. 
relentless.
forgiving.
undeserving. 
Hosea brings me to the room 
we once shared 
and the covers are pulled back. 
he helps me in, 
lifting my feet off the floor,
the sheets 
soft and welcoming 
against my tired, damp skin.
he tucks me in 
and leaves the softest 
kindest kiss 
on my forehead. 
he steps out quietly 
and i finally 
find 
rest.