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Yakov Azriel
KING DAVID’S WIVES “You will appoint a king upon yourselves, whom the Lord your God will choose; from among your brethren you will appoint a king ... but he should not have too many wives.” (Deuteronomy 17:15 and 17)
1. Michal, aged 18; for David, a minstrel at the court of King Saul, her father Will David ever love me? Here at court, He plays his harp and lyre, plucking their strings In ecstasy and passion as he sings Of prophets, priests and holy men who taught That we must build our God a sacred fort, A lofty bastion built of angel-wings Protecting all God’s people and their kings, A shrine of pious deeds and pious thought.
Why can’t he sing of me? God’s prophets preach A husband’s tender love reflects God’s care For His beloved, Israel, and her life; Why can’t the austere psalms of David teach It is no shame, no sin, no vice to hear A shepherd takes a princess as his wife.
2. Michal, aged 38; for David, her husband Does David love me? At my father’s court, We all loved him: my father used to bring Goliath’s sword for him to wield; each spring My brother shielded him in wars they fought; My sisters listened to the tales he taught And clapped their hands when he agreed to sing; And I — I gave myself, and everything A woman gives, except the son I sought.
Without his love, my life is but a beach Without its waves, without its sand, as bare As boulders scraped and carved by an ocean’s knife; Without his love, my life's a tasteless peach, A grape without its juice, a shapeless pear; Without his love, what meaning has my life?
3. Michal, aged 58; for David, the king of Israel Did David ever love me? Here at court, I watch each infant prince and princess cling And suck their mother’s breasts as mothers sing About the wars our royal husband fought. The older children, boys and girls, are taught Our people’s laws and customs by the king, Who kisses each, then gives each one a ring And coats of many colors that he brought.
I cling to my window-sill, out of reach, And hide amidst the shadows from the glare Of David’s children’s light, their sun, their life; Reciting psalms, I turn to God, beseech His help and spend my days in silent prayer; How bleak the nights of David’s childless wife.
4. Ahinoam the Jezreelitess; for David, her bridegroom Am I asleep? My heart’s awake; I hear Him knocking on my door, “I’ve come, my love, Unlatch the lock and open the door, my dove.” I hear his voice; or do I dream? I dare Not open, I have undressed, and lie here bare; I’ve washed my hands and feet, and wear no glove, No shoe; yet look — I see his hand above The lock, and his shadow hiding in the air.
Leaping from hills of myrrh and frankincense, My groom has come to drink his wine of choice And rest in beds of spices, among the throngs Of herbs and lilies of the valley, whose scents Awaken me tonight. I hear his voice Chanting my name, as he sings a song of songs.
5. Abigail, the widow of Nabal the Carmelite; for David, her second husband The Lord is my true Shepherd, I shall not want. When I was very young and very pretty And very poor, they took me from the city And made me marry a herdsman, old and gaunt, A drunken lecher who always used to flaunt How rich he was. He’d kick the ewes and hit me; He’d slap my face and never show us pity; He only knew to beat, insult and taunt.
But then he died; and in his stead, God sent Me David. Now I am a treasured sheep, And only in green pastures do I graze. God’s rod and David’s staff make me content. At night, I fear no evil when I sleep, And dwell in the house of God the length of days.
6. Ma’acah, the daughter of Talmai, king of Geshur; for David, general, captor, king He found me in the camps, the only one Among the captive girls who didn’t cry. All the women begged for bread. Not I. I begged my god, the good Tammuz, the sun,
To send me death. Why should I breathe, when none Of my family lived? I only wished to die; Expecting rape, I prayed to sanctify My life by death before they had their fun.
But he, the red-headed soldier, heard my prayers. There was no rape. He gently helped me stand And walk. For thirty days he let me mourn My parents, sisters, brothers; he wiped my tears, And then as king, he issued his command For suns to shine on me again, re-born.
7. Eglah; for David, her husband whom she loves Okay, I must admit I’m somewhat slow, I don’t know how to read and write, I mean, It’s really hard — even if you’re a queen — To get the hang of it, the letters flow Like drops of rain all over the page, they go Both up and down, across, and in between; Then funny empty spaces intervene, Like roots that drink the rain, to make plants grow.
So like I said, I’m really not that smart, And David’s other wives think I’m a calf. But I don’t care that much. Let others boast They read the Torah scrolls; I know the art Of telling jokes and making David laugh. So maybe I do God’s work more than most.
8. Haggit; for David, her savior, teacher, husband Our family latrine saved my life, when a band Of Philistines destroyed our farm; the trench Was full of urine, dung and filth, whose stench Allowed me to hide inside its slime and sand. And there I heard their officer command His men to stab my father’s heart; to wrench My brother’s arms until he died; to quench Their thirst with blood from Mother’s severed hand.
And there I heard the silence of God. Until My savior, David, came and pulled me out. He taught me not to blame our God, whose grace Will yet emerge and shine some day, whose still Small voice will yet resound, despite the shout Of evil men whose hands now hide God’s face.
9. Bath-sheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite; when King David sent messengers to summon her to his palace The king commands; how can I disobey? A lion roars, and no one can control A hungry lion’s passions, or its soul. The lion crouches, waiting for its prey. Ever since my husband went away, I’ve dreamt a greedy lion stalked and stole A pauper’s lamb; and no one could console The man whose lamb the lion schemed to slay.
Why can’t Uriah fly to me? How tame My husband is, a gentle bird whose wings Embrace my head and arms before we sleep. He loves to sing to me and chant my name, Then feather me with earrings, bracelets, rings. Yes, I recall Uriah’s smile, and weep.
10. Bath-sheba, the widow of Uriah the Hittite; for King David, her second husband and the father of her son, Solomon The king devotes an hour every day To teach our son to read the Torah scroll, Recite his psalms, and gain the self-control A future king must have; and then, they pray. He smiles when watching Solomon at play, At climbing trees or riding his new foal. I know the king would sacrifice his soul To save our son, this child he won’t betray.
But what am I to him? A badge of shame, A mark of Cain, a leper’s bell that rings As soon as I awake until I sleep. He turns his head and never says my name Although to all his other wives he sings. Yes, I recall Uriah’s smile, and weep.
11. Avital; for her lord the king Before the break of dawn each day, my lord, The king, arises from his bed to pray And praise the King of kings, the Lord. Each day He prays anew. Sometimes he says no word But hums a tune, for speech can be a sword That stabs the prophet’s eyes, which strive to stay And seize the Light before it slips away. Yet music, too, can sometimes cause discord
And block the prophet’s ear, which yearns to hear The Chariot’s Wheels turn. Those days, the king Negates his eyes, his ears, his mouth, in fear And awe of God. In total silence, as near To God as he dare come, he doesn’t sing Or speak, but with his feet, he dances prayer.
12. Avishag, the Shunammite; for His Royal Majesty, King David During the rainy, dark and chilly nights Of winter, His Royal Majesty, the king, Warms his hands in mine, listens to me sing, And nods his head before he slowly bites The meat I feed him with a spoon. He writes Another psalm, then orders me to bring His mother’s candlesticks and wedding ring For me to see, and him to hold. He fights
His tears when he begins to talk, quietly, About his mother. “Friday nights she’d kiss My brow before she prayed; she loved me best, And after lighting candles, sang with me. Of everyone I’ve loved, it’s her I miss.” Let the old king cry. Let an old man rest.
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