Oh, Judith. What have you done?

You have a secret.
I passed you by, but I felt it.
Innocence painted on your face –
a thin oil covering.
But you know.

He didnÂ’t know.
He couldnÂ’t feel
the lightning in your veins.
So much promise in his dark eyes,
pools of passion.
You refused to make a splash –
a ripple in the blackness.

Dear Judith, I understand.

He was so precious. Such a bastard.
Had to take that gold stake
to his heart.
Your braid as tight as your grip.

You can bare your breast,
wear your dress as low
as his soul has traveled.
Still such a child, a doll
with your powdered skin,
pure alabaster markings.
Only a small smudge of blood,
just bathe, darling
He will wash away.

You donÂ’t need him. What a big girl.
You hold your head above the eyes.

But yours tell a story, dear Judith.
A book of blinks and tears,
tightly bound and shelved.
I can see those words; they are my own.
He is dead, we know that now
and I will share those stains with you.

06/05/2003

Author's Note: Inspired by the painting “Judith with the Head of Holofernes” by Francesco Cairo.

Posted on 04/08/2006
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