Janice Lobo Sapigao
I worked on this poem—emotionally and artistically—for twelve years after I was sexually assaulted.
I need to leave a sentence here so that the previous sentence can breathe.
Many people in my life do not know about this experience. I still feel a mix of deep shame and indignation as I open the door for it to walk into the warmer rooms of my life.
I need to leave this sentence here, let the last one breathe.
For a long time, I skirted the subject of sexual violence. In “Pregnancy Tests,” I thought the direct voice seemed too assured, assertive. Subsequent drafts gave me direction and structure, but after fourteen drafts, I realized it needed flesh. Opening the narrative to advice, prayer, and naming pulled me through. Rest, spending time alone, moving slowly, and meditating on love, law, and the fissures in-between made connective tissue. I asked myself, what if I were more direct, making the speaker more plainspoken and logical. The lines became fuller, more descriptive, and even delicate.
I created the poetic form of a pregnancy test: alternating two lines and one line throughout the poem to reflect the process of waiting for answers, for an outcome. The poem became less about how I felt at fault and more about a man who should have listened, should have stopped. I allowed myself and the poem a way out: towards heavy hope and healing.
This poem took its time. It shares a lineage with the Dear Sister: Letters from Survivors of Sexual Violence anthology, edited by fellow Pinay writer, Lisa Factora-Borchers. I found Dear Sister when I could not find a book about the pain I felt in the afterlife of my survivorship. Too many things kept this poem sitting by itself in a dark room when it needed the soft sunlight of shared experience.
< draft >
To Circle A Subject
The anniversary of your survival is written right here
where journal pages tremble
against the anxiety of sleeping.
- Indira Allegra “Survival Lesson”
1.
i dated someone who wasn’t dating me back.
and it felt like my fault.
i blamed myself for
what he couldn’t offer me.
my silent survival came after him,
too long after i left his apartment
a place i can’t go back to
even in memory.
2.
my partner now knows
but he doesn’t really know.
because i can’t bring myself
to tell him
about the one who will never match
nor measure up to his good heart.
3.
i too often self-shame:
i should have known better
because i worked with young girls
wrote poems with my sisters
created sisterhood out of time spent
called out men who mansplained
i organized
i made the flyers
i got the volunteers
i did the work.
i practiced my consciousness
in my community
and proclaimed what that looks like to others
but consciousness
is not always kindness
4.
i know
it is not
my fault.
5.
don’t ask me about this poem.
only i get to decide
when to share
what i survived.
6.
every now and then
my mind goes back to the room
where he didn’t listen
7.
i left because
love doesn’t look like
calling once a week
hanging up angrily
not telling my friends anything
grammatically incorrect texts
yelling at your mother
an uneaten salmon dinner
you should have known
you should have known better
8.
there is still light outside
it is mine
to glow
and you can
only see it if
and only when
i say so
< final version >
Pregnancy Tests (2012)
The anniversary of your survival is written right here
where journal pages tremble
against the anxiety of sleeping.
- Indira Allegra “Survival Lesson”
