I followed you

Through vast deserts and over mountains

Into lush valleys

and across years

I followed you

Though you did not follow me,

Offering me instead to strangers

and angels

I followed you

Into the desert, empty and sere–

Sterile as my womb,

While you built altars

to your God.

And I laughed

And lied

And sent my Handmaid to your bed

To please you

And appease you.

And still I followed you.

I followed you,

Sacrificed my royalty for you,

Watched a Handmaid’s child

Claim a nation

And felt my womb quicken.

Even after

I followed you

And laughed at God

And lied–

I felt my womb quicken!

And so I followed you

Drank at your wells

and prayed at your altars

Built to please and appease

your God.

And you walked through oceans of sand,

Knelt in fertile crescents

Rich and lush as life itself,

Traversed mountains

At the whim of your God.

At the command of God

And on the last mountain

I did not follow.

I watched you walk away,

Walk up that mountain

With our son at your side.

Our son–

Whose life had quickened my womb;

Whose heart had beat in tandem with mine;

Whose hand I held and body I cradled,

Whose fears I eased

And tears I dried–

I did not follow you

While you sacrificed our son

Until the angel stayed your hand.

I will not follow

Build a nation and altars to God.

I have drunk at your wells,

And laughed,

And lied;

And watched you walk away,

Watched my son follow you

Up that mountain

Knife in his hand,

The sun silver against that sharpened blade.

He followed,

Your sacrifice

My son.

And so I will not follow

I will remain.

Keep your altars

and your God

I am your sacrifice

And I —

I will not follow.