Mrs Crusoe Poem by Nora Nadjarian

He was saved, mine,
the moment sandmud
touched his palm.

I licked the saltstung face.
His lips parted to protest,
but the voice hid.

I smiled at my prize,
my empty shell heart
filled; grateful to the sea

For carrying this man
like a heavy wave to crash
onto my beach and life.

I taught him to hunt,
made him goat skin clothes.
We shared rats and caves.

The moon came and went.
And then, the cameramen.
Men, more, people. So I hid.

I accepted the conditions:
that nobody must know
I ever existed. Only he, alone

Would get the publicity - photos,
fan mail, headlines for The Sexy Savage,
The Beast, The Hero, The Survivor.

One day they took him away,
unsaved him. I sat on the sand
and dug my nails in, and wept

into my trampled heart, the rat stew
and the waves.