The following poem is from the collection "War," by Sarwat Rumi, released in 2005. Rumi is a bilingual Bengali American Muslim in Chicago. To order a chapbook, email here.

bioterrorism

i remember
the picture in the paper
quite vividly:     bosnia 1992.
a woman hanging by her neck     from a tree.
a maddening end to two lives
hers     and the child she carried
conceived of rape:
casualties
of the oldest form of bioterrorism
known to woman.

i remember
1993:     waiting to bleed.
i believed him when he said
if you say no one more time
i don't know what i'm gonna do
i thought about     flowers
                    clouds
my grandmother
through the searing pain that stained me
in ways i couldn't name.     later
i was stunned to find
that i hadn't even bled.

i didn't bleed then
and i wouldn't for days     weeks
withholding my grief     for a moment of proof
because i couldn't have really lost it
that way.

but i pictured his poison     seeping into
the blood of my blood     which must be in there
somewhere     crawling just under my skin
with the shame and fear     that a demonchild
had been conceived within.

when i finally bled     a clotted red river
i shed my first tear as a woman
and i cried for three years
in the voiceless horror     that there was
no child     but the demon remained
taunting me     with the guilty shame
that i hadn't said no
one more time

until i vomited the silence
that had gripped my throat like invisible bile
and spoke the words to release me
from my own captivity:
i was raped.
one small victory
against the oldest form of bioterrorism
known to woman.

two more times     i would wait to bleed
for men who forced their way inside me
there was never a child     but there is more to fear
than just pregnancy     like
nightmares
          migraines
                     ulcers
          insomnia
                     anxiety
          depression
flashbacks
          panic attacks
PTSD
    VD
syphilis
          herpes
hepatitis A and B
    HPV
HIV     HIV     HIV
and the demons under the skin
which never come clean.
this     the oldest form of bioterrorism
known to woman.

i remember
lying on my back
                    legs spread
          stirruped feet
starting at a butterfly mobile
under shivering flourescent light
needles     swabs     slides     clamps
what do you mean you don't remember?
when i try say     how it happened.
but i was okay     physically.
one small victory
against the oldest form of bioterrorism
known to woman.

some people wonder
how many times will she write about rape?
well     how many ways are there     to do it?
and why not celebrate     that one cold friday
i fought traffic down lakeshore drive
on my way to a clinic
cuz the last motherfucker     died a junkie
and you know it can take a year
to detect HIV?

my hands shook     in time with my heart
because sometimes you don't worry
until you're sitting right there
wondering if he could ruin your life twice
waiting for the paper to be passed     which states:
NO ANTIBODIES FOUND.
one more victory
against the oldest form of bioterrorism
known to woman.

and why not celebrate     that one fine sunday
i took out a guy twice my size
          seven times in seven ways
a man with the courage to play my worst nightmare
and teach me     to defeat it
seven strong victories
against the oldest form of bioterrorism
known to woman.

so you want to know
why i write about rape?
try living with it     under your skin
every moment of every day

i think you'd want to celebrate
every battle won
against the oldest form of bioterrorism
known to woman.

© 2005 Sarwat Rumi