Vicarious Traumatization

by Tonya Cherie Hegamin

(For my girls still holding down the fortress at Women Against Rape) 

I.
She gets schooled in the biz by the best,
though her ancestors couldn’t have conjured this:
sexual sadists, predators, pedophiles, their psycho-sexual desires.
What is the verbal behavior of a pseudo-unselfish ritualistic rapist? 
She is dunced in a class of thick necked, razor-headed
policemen.  But slideshows are fun!  Let’s look at the women
who’ve been done.  She’ll study rape
like ancient text.  Put fear into practice like a pro. 

II.
Now instead of prayers each night she piously places furniture,
clothing, knick-knacks, in a tactical fashion about the floor—
a booby-trap to keep secure her fleshy woman treasure.
She maneuvers a subtle voodoo through
mountains of bric-a-brac.  She knows this will never truly
fool her Rapist/Killer.  He laughs outside the jimmy-easy windows
at her earnest and sacred attempts.  Of course he’s mapped out
where each telltale sock and empty box
lies in wait for his false step. 

III.
Of course he has no false steps.  He has different pairs of shoes
to walk around in, to not be so clearly identified.  She wonders
which footprint in the backyard he belongs to.  He is crafty.
When she looks he is not there.  She is crafty. 
She tries not to look as though she’s looking.  She is loathe
to leave the house.  She tries not to fall so visibly asleep, calculates
how loudly she’d have to scream for neighbors to notice.  
She practices grabbing the kitchen knife hidden under the mattress, 
gets up and puts the iron in the middle of the floor.
Chuckles at her own cunning as she trips over the cord. 

IV.
The odds are in:  one in six—
a woman raped almost every other minute.
Mostly it’s dates, lovers, brothers, but she’ll take bets
hers is a frothy stranger.  She wonders what her number is.
A forgotten stub pulled from some whistle red ticker? 
How thin shall her slice be?  Or perhaps it is a lottery—  
bungled balls to vacuum her fate.  How does she prepare
for such winnings?  How does one claim these taxes? 

V.
He is a white man.  A black man.  Any color man will do.
He most certainly has a moustache long enough to twirl
between thumb and forefinger.  His desire makes him smarter,
his lust makes him dumb.  He is depraved.  He is needy.
His mother never loved him.  His father loved him too much.
None of it really matters; not even the Tae-Bo classes she takes.
All the books dictate: it’s best not to fight back, don’t
stir his simmering arousal.  Your time will come, girl
they say.  Your time will come.

The first two sections of “Vicarious Traumatization” were printed in the Cave Canem 2000 Anthology under a different name.