We struck a bargain, you and I,
when I was four,
or five perhaps,
though since then so much time has passed,
by now it really doesn't matter when.

You said, "Don't tell." and I, for love,
didn't. So well,
that when I woke at night, dressed by you
in my mother's clothes,
frightened,
wishing someone knew enough
to undo the screw that kept on binding me
to you, I still didn't tell,
though I wanted to.

A score of years and more
have passed since then,
but sometimes at night I still wake
with a start.
My lover's touch will lurch me from sleep
with my breast-caged heart
beating, pounding,
furiously yelling, "Tell! Tell!"

At least by now the spell's been broken-
finally the fear is gone,
though forgiving is far off
and I don't think I'll forget
even in my next life on from here.

I've banished you from my heart,
though I cannot keep you from my head,
and when people ask,
"Are your parents still alive?"
I tell them that my father's dead.

You see, at last as I begin to tell,
it's clear that you must be the devil,
for I have known
and been to hell.