Holofernes
Nebuchadnezzar summoned you there,
Robed in yellow and blue,
Anathema of Canaanites and angel
Wings on your back.
You shoved a knee between her thighs,
Kept them prized wide; prized
A handkerchief in her mouth
As if performing a circus trick
Blindfolded, throwing knives
At the rotating girl;
Or a spun plate balancing a severed head
(Still singing trickling pictures on its tongue
Turning about) aiming southward or predicting
A scraping of the cheek, a removal
Of the sacred flesh. Still
You pushed on predicting
The sibille, threaded through fingers,
The thumbscrew dare. You waited out
The in scream like a besieged city
Or fallen pride or the voyeur’s plea
Crying, ‘It is true, it is true, it is true, it is true.’
