Dreamed late 1983 by Chris Wayan

The father looms, a rapist in my dark,
Oozing liquored semen with his sweat.
Hollow clenches in my nether gut.
Adult, I fuck, but muscles don't forget.

They said "you don't feel that; you're happy."
They took my me!
So I learned to hide me where
Even cut me open couldn't find.
Now my lover search me with a hand.
Not too deep my love--or I can die.

Probe, and I'll come out the wound,
Darken as I feel the oxygen-bite
Of your--another's--gaze.
Let me creep slowly to light,
Or like a birth too quick
I'll tear again, feel the slick
Drip down thighs to earth: blood-dread.

I dream how body ought to feel
I slide, throb, buzz and zoom!
Then wake ashrunk inside my peel,
Like a withered avocado:
Seeming gleaming full--
But heft betrays the rot.
Hollow as the rubbertouch of undead
That I twitch under still.
In dreams alone, I sometimes grasp
That mythical warm clasp you daily feel.

Daddy it hurt.
My sex raw meat again--
Too big...
Too soon.

In the dream, I wasn't a girl but a grown woman of thirty vividly reliving this early memory--and realizing not only my sexual fears but my long history of cramps and pelvic inflammation and allergies came from this molestation!
And then woke to find I was male. And my dad had never raped me.
But I did have a long history of pelvic pain and allergies.
Metaphor... or another life?
Twenty years later, I still don't know.
I just can't rule it out.

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