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It is hard,
looking back at past injuries,
to know
where to assign blame.
It all began ...
Where did it all begin?
When the one who was pure and holy
raped me beside a pile
of books?
Who could I tell?
Who would believe a confused Indian girl?
But no ...
that was not the beginning.
The beginning had already begun
long before he pressed me
to the floor.
The lines had already been drawn.
Already, it had been decided who,
among all of
us,
would be believed if we disagreed.
I never did understand
how the agreement was reached.
In the confusion of cultural shock,
I missed the
beginning.
I was too busy
learning about telephones
and bathtubs
and the proper
use of forks.
I was too busy
trying to understand
all the lies and half lies
of an
alien culture.
I was too busy
trying to fit in.
I was too sad and lonely,
and afraid of failure,
to
pay close attention.
So I missed the beginning.
By the time I woke up,
you had already decided
–
all of you –
the whole group:
if there was disagreement,
I would not be believed.
So when the pure and holy one,
who would always be
believed,
raped me beside a pile of books,
there was no-one to tell.
It was too late by then.
He raped me –
the pure and holy one –
beside
a pile of dusty books.
And there was no-one to tell
because no-one would believe
a young Indian girl,
a
confused Indian girl,
"a known liar."
He raped me –
the pure and holy one.
And no-one cared.
