As we gathered on the warm cliff that is Great Grandfather’s lap, our breath whirled its greenness upon the midnight sky, Great Grandmother beckoning us across the threshold of her ballet.
The moonlight danced upon the curve of the sacred water as lines traced across the sky like limbs, thin branches to prop up the stars …and my kind’s ungodly thoughts.
My Love was wide eyed with awe, with sorrow. Her gaze, like a sentry without fire, led me to stagger over stones. (Her breath told me that it was going to be a long night.)
I felt Love’s grief pierce my heart as we cuddled up. It wasn’t fear or regret; it was anguish lifting us to imitate revelation, to act out nature’s drama with hanging eyes.
The mountain came alive with voices; Great Grandfather bellowed his return as Great Grandmother slapped the air. Unaccompanied, I ascended the dark mountain in search of the hallowed ground where corpses slept, the path was lined with vipers and silhouettes of madness as I hauled her grief to the crevice and let it fall away.
I stumbled down the mountain, bare, blind and crippled, the serpent’s chain came alive with my awe and my hand stayed too long on its skin; cold, damp and angry.
I left no offering, save for that of her heartache and my regret. I called out to my Love to let her know that I was coming back, returning with open arms, ready to tote the weight of any leftover death.
I arrived tenderly and cuddled up with her wavering spree. She pushed her arms out seeking a freedom from it all, from years of indoctrination and insensible warfare, death.
Up the mountain to dump the corpses, pray for safety, lurch over stones, lay a hand on the serpent, shudder, wail and ache. Three times I went up the mountain and thrice returned to my Love. At last I snuggled up against her silence, the thing that stirs my speech, lifts my eyes with wonder and brings my hand to stroke her furrowed brow.
As we closed our eyes for the night, the old man and old woman cackled their goodnights with a finality of anger and doubt and we conceded our journey with reverent dreams.
© 2011 by mark prime
Comments
Post a Comment