The Brotherhood

by helen608

Our golden band is her cage, her duties and expectations form the bars. She is a wife and a mother: a thing of beauty, a creature of obedience. We have tamed and trapped her and thus she is ours. We goad her with raspberries, a healthy pregnancy.

The Virgin is the highest type of female excellence. We give her white garments, ensuring she upholds their purity. We thrust lilies at her, chaining her to chastity. We press cherries hard into her delicate hands, modest beauty, immaculate.

This girl who buds must be torn into flowering. We loose her clothes, we wet her lips. We give her pomegranate, their seeds tell of her blossoming fertility. She is our maiden ready for marriage, ready for us.

For she who is fallen must be forced to rise. We give her blackberries, sorrow, spiritual neglect.  We wait for her atonement. We throw our rosary beads at her, our prayers and good faith. We hold her down at the water, coerce her into the inevitable cleansing.