Vashti Refuses the King’s Summons
In his arms you were inlaid
emeralds, ivory
baubles, turquoise beads. Glass
ringed your fingers & delicate chains
belayed your neck, descending
pendants into cleavage.
Picture-carved walls, marble
histories—
wed us to the past. He clasped
rubies around your wrists, which
are my mother’s wrists, which are
my wrists, the small-knobbed
bones of any woman who ever
said no. How the king first
praised our flesh & fed us
pistachio & walnut, pomegranate
wild pear. We wore the gilded
silk, soft as stitched rose
petals & blessed him with more
wine.
A woman early taught her body
belongs to other hands
rehearses the submission —
wife abiding her man as he sits
enthroned with drink
& craving.
At what moment did you realize
your beauty
would prove your undoing?
Stripped of title, as the lion
fur skinned from skeleton
to soften your perch.
* * * * *
“Vashti Refuses the King’s Summons” by Edwin Long, 1878.
Courtesy of Bob Jones University Museum and Gallery.
