But it’s all her fault, Adam whined.
The father replied, son, let me remind you,
you ain’t never been nothing but dirt.
From dust you were created and to dust you shall return.

Fast Forward.

But I want them to love me, the father whined,
to the wind and the stars
and no one in particular
because it’s lonely at the top.

In order to erase that wicked woman’s sin, that very first sin,
the heavenly father surmised what the world needed most
was
another
baby
boy.

He will be a living god.
He will save them.
They will love him,
and they will hate him
for they know not of what they do.
I shall call this boy my son, the father said,
but I will let him die just to prove my love.
His death,
the price of their salvation.

He will grow within the womb of
an unwed mother.

Still a girl, unsullied, not even a wife.

Can you just imagine the look on Mariam’s face when she was told?
What? Are you crazy?
I’m barely thirteen.
I’m not consenting to that.

Shush, it’s okay, honey. Shush, don’t worry.
God wants you. He’s chosen you.
You’re such a special girl.
This is going to be great.
Stop fighting it, Mariam.
You know you really want it.

Her belly visible proof
the daughters of Eve have never really had a choice.
There’s no sin to be seen here, Joseph soon declared.
Why it’s the righteous work of the Holy Spirit.
And thus was created plausible deniability.

Her purity intact, a virgin she remained.
It’s bullshit, of course
Because Mariam already knew.
A rape
is a rape
is a rape.

All around the world women whisper
me too
me too
me too.

Jesus.
The great big lie moralized, canonized, weaponized.
Fetal Personhood.
Forced Pregnancy.
His Divine Right.

Clarence Thomas knew he didn’t need to ask.
So did Kavanaugh.
They know there’s no such thing as equal protection.
Because every girl is born with an equal opportunity

to be violated.

Now we’re all told this one wild and precious life just isn’t enough.
It’s an eternity we must strive for.
Washed clean.
Of our sins, our stories
even our last names.
Born again.
Not from a mythical virgin, child-bride fantasy.
In fact, no woman need apply at all.

Now it’s only through a dead man that we can be
redeemed. Reborn.
Now this, this really would be some kind of miracle
if you could figure out how to make it true.
But over half the population knows it’s just one more fucking lie.

Because we remember.
It was water we breathed first,
long before we ever crawled from the womb and pressed our heel into your dusty land.
Born from the headwaters of our mothers, born already baptized in her blood.
We don’t need to be made clean.

Do not dare tell me there’s a fee for my salvation
when I’ve been paying rent on a body, I can’t even call my own
since the day I was born.

Beth Anne Macdonald (she/her) uses her curiosity for religious and cultural myths to explore their influence on our convictions, choices and the inevitable consequences on how we create belonging in the world.

Her work has appeared in Querencia Press, The Open Sewers Project, the Saranac Review, Marrow Magazine, Venus Hour and The Anti-Misogyny Club. She is currently working on her first memoir, reflecting on what it means to come home after leaving her evangelical-Christian family.