Taking a Bath with Bathsheba

Bathsheba has often been treated as little more than a prop in the narrative of David’s temptation, downfall, and renewal. Surely she had a story of her own to hold and tell, even if she was only one who would listen. 

(2 Samuel 11–12)

She wants, no, needs to make sure the water covers her.
She runs it through her hands first
holds it, watches it move, and pours it
over her legs.
Then her hips, her belly, her chest.
She holds it to her face, pausing before she soaks her eyes and mouth.
The soap smells like her favorite tree from a field she used to know.
She treats the water like her only hope.
To clean off the secrets her body holds,
And the shame she worries is her new skin.

It all started with a bath like this.
She was preparing her body to welcome her husband home
To make a place of peace in the days of war.
She didn’t know someone was watching.
She’s heard people talk like she knew.
If she knew, she wonders, would she have moved faster
Or slower?
If she knew
her hands held her husband’s life,
how would she have moved them?
If she knew
her breasts would nurse a child
she would bury at her feet,
Would she have covered them?

She counts on her soapy fingers
what she has lost.
One — A marriage — lost to lust and war.
Two — a child — lost to sickness and wrath.
Three — four — five — her heart, mind, soul — lost to a king.
And now, this body, lost to carry and birth again.

And for just this moment, she moves like it belongs to her.
She is filled with a wisdom
she wishes she could wash away.