Tamar, aka Kedaisha

Tamar, aka Kedaisha

His eyes went round as pitas
when he saw me.
Me, the whore.
Not me, the daughter-in-law.

I uncovered my face
as I lay in wait
for him to pass my way.
I knew this was his way,
the only way for this to happen.

I’d mourned long enough
for my two dead husbands.
(His sons.)
I guess he thought me bad luck
(or something)
because he wouldn’t let
his third son near me.

As if I had anything to do
with the deaths of those two idiots.
As if I was interested
in that prepubescent, patchy kid.

I wanted Him. Judah.
He was the Man.
Head of the clan.
Head of state.

So I went to wait at the crossroads
where he had to pass.
And believe me when I tell you-
when he saw me,
he was like humus in my hands.

Of course, he didn’t know
it was me.
How could he?
In his house, I was
proper and prim. Wore
the strictest face covering,
dressed head to toe in black.
Now, decked in my whore’s
attire, lace scarf around my neck
(lingerie of the Middle East)
--never in a million years
would he have dreamt
it was me.

As payment, I asked
for his ring, his cloak, his staff-
a stroke of genius, I have to say
(not to pat myself on the back)
-this way, if I gave birth,
I’d have proof
it was his.

As luck would have it,
I became pregnant.
Judah was outraged, indignant.
Slut! he cried.

The joke was on him.
I sent him his things-
his ring, his cloak, his staff-
recognize these?


Why did I do it, you ask?
I’ll tell you- it wasn’t for money,
power or land. It wasn’t even
love. Let’s just leave it at this-
if you’d have known Judah,
you’d understand.