Idyllic dreams of loyalty
had perished in the night,
and lay amid the ashes of my best-kept hopes.

I saw at last:
my tarnished knight
had held my wounded soul in thrall
with polished words
that ringed my heart like lifeless gems.

His selflessness was counterfeit.
But even when I found it out, his dashing charm
reflected all my questions back to me,
until I doubted everything I knew.

My life poured out around his feet.
And he, with easy flourishes,
stepped daintily among my sins,
dispensing absolution with a dissolute embrace.

Because I didn't know where I left off and he began,
I thrilled to watch him joust with truth
and bring it to its knees.

By conquering sincerity, my erstwhile hero
fanned the flames of guilt and want,
and bound my soul to secrecy.

I'd learned too late
I'd chosen with a starving heart
an idol who would never stand by me.
But adoration blinded me.
It kept my arms'-length conqueror
resplendent in his selfishness.

September 17, 1995

This was the minister/therapist who wanted to know all the details of my sexual abuse, who hung on every word, whose touch was always inappropriate, who bound me to him with words of concern that seemed almost real, and who called me a coward when I tried to break it off. At the end of two years I ended up in a mental hospital, which he kept secret from the congregation. He never visited me there.