Four years have passed since the death of of the king,
I mean David my husband whose son reigns;
May the king live for ever, Solomon,
The child of one of David’s other wives.
I was a year or two younger than David,
But now I’m a little older. Time is short.
I have this mischief in my blood
And various other related symptoms
I don’t want to cause boredom or offence
So, like Forrest Gump, ‘That’s all I’ll say about that.’
I’m in bed as I write this on an ostracon
My wrist isn’t strong so my mems look like tets.
I’ve survived all my nieces and nephews
And I never had children of my own.
A couple of maidservants should ease my end
With supplies of mandrake and olive leaves.
But I’ve had a most unexpected visit!
You’ll never guess. Go on, give it a go.
I’ll give you a clue, ‘High and mighty,’
Yes, it was Solomon the king.
He wasn’t at all what I expected.
He was so friendly and unassuming.
I’d last seen him at his coronation,
Where his mother, Bathsheba, was queening it.
I tried to stand up but that didn’t work out,
Solomon said, ‘Can I sit on the bed?
I’ll try not to squash you.’ I just nodded.
I think the surprise took my breath away.
Then I said, ‘The King does me a great honour.’
‘Not at all,’ he replied, ‘You were my father’s wife,
You helped him escape, he owed his life to you,
Which means that, indirectly, so do I.’
I very much wanted to be sitting up
And gestured to my servant for a pillow.
She put one behind my back which helped a bit
But I still wasn’t perpendicular.
I spoke self-deprecatingly,
‘Oh, that time when he got out through the window –
All I had to do was open a casement
Which I’m sure he could have managed himself.’
I was staggered that he even knew of it
Because David was always furious
When I reminded him how I’d helped,
Deceiving my father’s men while he fled.
I probably mentioned it too often
But repetition must have done the trick
As here was his son, recounting my version,
My essential role in the making of a king.
Who had told him? Was it Bathsheba
Or, as I preferred to think, David himself?
‘How do you know about that?’ I asked,
Essaying a laugh, just to seem casual.
‘It was Zadok the priest as I recall,’
He answered, ‘but he got it off of Nathan.
Nathan knew absolutely everything.
He was the annals of King David on legs.’
I was perking up at the scent of gossip.
‘Wasn’t Nathan very discreet?’ I asked.
‘I don’t do lashon ha-ra,’ said the king,
Then, with a small sigh, ‘but, since you ask, no.’
His eyes brightened and he leaned towards me,
‘But I’ll tell you who does do lashon ha-ra,’
And then laughed, so I realized it was a joke,
Solomon sitting on my bed cracking jokes.
In my wildest dreams, I wouldn’t have believed it.
The next thing, I was waking up and he was gone.
‘Was King Solomon here? I asked my maid.
‘Yes ma’am,’ she said. ‘He sat just here, on your bed.’
‘Where is he now?’ I asked, a bit fretfully.
‘He left ma’am, after you fell asleep.’
Then it seemed David was sitting on my bed,
So, even unconscious, I knew it was a dream.
I speak first. ‘Solomon was here,’ I say.
David: ‘I know, I sent him. To comfort you.’
Me: ‘But you didn’t even like me.’
David: ‘You were the bride of my youth
And I know you loved me to the end.’
Me: ‘That’s a no-brainer. Everyone loved you.’
I find my servant is feeding me olive leaves
And something else so I know I’m awake.
She gives me water but there’s a bitter taste,
I think it’s my tongue. David used to say
I had a bitter tongue when I criticized.
He said that was why he didn’t… Must sleep.
I’m looking through a window and David’s there.
He’s a bowshot away but he sees me,
Then he’s entering through the window
But it’s confusing because now it’s me
They – who? – are putting me through a window,
It must be on the floor because I’m lowered…
Here’s my servant with something for me to drink
From a spoon. ‘You gave me already,’ I say.
She says, ‘That was at noon. Look, the sun has set.’
My eyes follow her pointing finger: the window.
David – or Solomon – climbs out through the window.
‘Gird up your skirts so that they don’t trip you.’
Who said that? Maybe it was me. That makes sense.
There’s a wall, our high stone wall and he’s there,
Behind the wall, Solomon, no, David,
Gazing through the window, peering through…what?
Harakh. It’s scorched. No, peering through the lattice.
My beloved spoke thus to me, ‘Arise my love,
My fair one, come away. For lo, the winter…’
The winter, the window, for lo the window.
Below the window. And he looks up at me.
I look down, but now I go through the window.
Now the window is past. Strange word, winter.
Solomon’s word. They say he’s wise, wiser,
He’ll build the Temple in Jerusalem.
David couldn’t, you know. I sought him,
I sought but I found him not. I must rise
And roam the town. I must rise. I must.
 Malicious speech
 Lattice or scorch
 Malicious speech