Mary, did you know?

a letter to my abuser’s mother


by jules stevenson


Mary, did you know? 

That the pit in your 

stomach was rotten? 

That the flesh you 

carried for nine long 

months would come 

out of you snapping 

and snarling? Mary, 

did it hurt? When you 

were severed. Your 

arms blessed with a 

bloody bundle of a baby? 


If you knew what he 

would do to me would 

you still have wept tears 

of joy? Would you still 

have anointed his forehead 

with your lips? Did your 

joy outweigh my pain? 


Mary, I do not blame 

you for your offspring.

Every man is a martyr

To his mother. You are 

a sheep, and he, a wolf 

in lamb's clothing. Did 

he tear his way out of 

you with his teeth and 

his claws? Did you see 

the bloodlust in his eyes? 

Did you smell the sulfur 

in his smile? 


Mary, did you know? 

Did you see the signs?

Did he ever come home

Licking his lips?

His white pelt stained 

wine red with blood? 

Did he tell you it was his? 

Did you believe him, 

Mary, as all mothers must? 



Mary, I know

love has blinded

you, but Mary there

Are no miracles

Here. He will not 

kiss your broken

eyelids/ open so 

let me tell you that

old/old story Mary, 

of how your son got

Up there onto that old

Rugged cross/ arms 

flung wide/ open



He took the stairs.

Each step

A back

Bone

Broken

 

Each step

a girl/ interrupted 


Each step

a different age

17

18

19

15

14

12

9

And mary these are 

just the ones i know


Mary, do you remember

The story of the foot

Prints in the sand?

Mary, did you walk

Up us with him

Safe in your silence


Mary oh, sweet, Mary, 

do you still wash his feet 

in the temple? Do they turn 

the holy water wine red?


Because Mary, it’s 

been Five years and

I still can’t wash

Him off. Mary i’ve

Tried. I get on my

Knees every night

and i scrub/ and i

scrub/ and i scrub/

and i pray/ To you,

Mary, I Do. Because 

Mary, maybe he would 

listen to you/ Mary


I do not blame you, 

for your offspring. 

I know/ every man 

is the Messiah/ a

Martyr to his mother. 


But I used to be innocent, 

just like you. Bones jutted/ 

knees bruised from praying. 


Your baby ripped me apart 

from the inside out, too Mary. 

Oh, my sweet, sweet Mary. 

How could you not know?