When Cecilia was nearly raped, –
told Cecilia, –
her mother felt embarrassment.
Cecilia also felt embarrassment,
years later: why was she spared?
Not because of her braids?
Not because she was scared, for sure.
Because she prayed?
It was such an improvised little prayer:
God please don’t God please don’t ad infinitum
as it was God himself by the elevator
in this dirty stairroom
that lifted up her skirt.
Wasn’t it God, that muttered:
If I’ll meet you again,
I’ll spear you.
That was, what he muttered.
Not even prick or pierce,
so she couldn’t utterly understand
what he meant.
She never met him since then.