Bricks

by Beate Sigriddaughter

Silence.

There are things we must not say.

There was a time when the law said

a woman who speaks out

against a man shall have her mouth

crushed with fire bricks.

There was a time when the law said

adulterers must be bound

and thrown in the river, even

a woman who was raped.

Her husband could pull her out

of the river, if he so desired,

while the king himself

could save a man he valued.

I am tired and heavy with things

I must not say. This silence slides

like grains of broken brick

between my teeth.

Arthur, with affectionate regret,

did not choose Guinevere

over law or flames. Would you

pull me from the river

if they tossed me there

against my will?

That is the question.

Oh, I remember: I am not

supposed to take things personally.

But I am the daughter of daughters

of women who were miraculously

neither drowned nor burned.

They have trained me with such memory

that you no longer have to crush

my mouth with bricks. All you have

to do is look at me a certain way.

This silence is not easy to undo.

How I hate this silence.

* * * * *

"Bricks" was first published by Blue Lyra Review and is part of Beate Sigriddaughter's 2018 poetry collection Xanthippe and Her Friends.